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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182867">KOTYATA!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nivelle/pseuds/NivellesArt'>NivellesArt (Nivelle)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchwood_hull/pseuds/witchwood_hull'>witchwood_hull</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>3 AM Noodle Hijinks, Additional Warnings On Individual Chapters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Uses An Alias For The First Part Of The Fic, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feral Cats, Kittens, Kittens Are Messy, Last Chapter Will Have Links To Cute Cats And More Info, M/M, Mentions of Intestinal Parasites, Mentions of poop, Mild Veterinary Medical Yuck, NASBB 2020, NO ANIMALS DIE IN THIS FIC I PROMISE, Non-graphic Animal Birth, Non-graphic Surgical Procedures, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reasonable Tony Stark, TNR Advocacy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:08:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>79,805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nivelle/pseuds/NivellesArt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchwood_hull/pseuds/witchwood_hull</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Insight Day, the Winter Soldier disappears by simply...walking away. Away from Steve, the river, Hydra, the city. He comes to what looks like an abandoned house and breaks in, taking shelter from everything but his own mind. While he doesn’t have a plan for what comes next, a box of five tiny days-old kittens changes the course of whatever plans he might have made. </p><p>What follows is a story of how compassion changes lives, featuring Bucky, Steve, a lot of kittens and a few cats.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020, Soft Stories</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, 2020 has been kiiiiiind of a mess. Two things helped keep me sane this year: the (Not) Another Stucky Big Bang and watching kittens on YouTube. </p><p>I'm incredibly grateful to Nivelle for being an amazing pinch-hitter in the tiny window we had left before the end of the Bang and creating some incredible art for my story. Thank you so, so much. </p><p>I'm also incredibly grateful to the mods of the Bang for being helpful, prompt, and kind when I needed a hand. Y'all are fantastic and I'd love to do this again next year. </p><p>Edit: fixed a bunch of stuff and added the links to cute cats! Fixed 99% of the formatting and added scene-break kittens! Speaking of breaks, they're showing up broken for me on Chrome for mobile. No idea how to fix that right now, sorry! :/ </p><p>Oh, and just for my own peace of mind: this story is not a suitable replacement for actual medical advice from a licensed veterinarian. I've done my best to be accurate, but I'm only human and this <i>is</i> a story featuring two ridiculously bioengineered super-soldiers, so.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter:<br/>- Brief non-graphic mentions of memories of techs working on The Winter Soldier<br/>- Animal abandonment (it lasts about ten seconds)<br/>- Brief flashback to Bucky holding an injured dog (implied that the dog was also a Hydra asset)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The passage of time has been relatively meaningless over the last… Well, it has been meaningless. The Asset has no idea what day it is, or how long he's been on the move, when he walks into the clearing to find the house. It's a farmhouse, or was, and despite its likely age it's not a ruin. Walking around the perimeter shows him that all of the windows and doors are intact, the dark green paint isn't fresh but doesn't need maintenance yet, and that there are a couple of cameras attached to the siding. Curiously, they're not aimed at the most likely points of ingress, as though security is a secondary consideration. The smallish yard is overgrown, save for a couple of parallel ruts leading off through the woods and a mostly-gravel area that's presumably used for parking.</p><p>After a solid six hours of surveillance that leaves him in the dark and seems to reveal that no one is home, he easily climbs up the house until he's outside a third-story window. It sticks a little, but steady upward pressure overcomes mildly-warped wood and the sash slides up and out of his way. On the other side of the window is an attic space, dusty boxes and pieces of furniture covered in sheets taking up most of the room. The window closes with a squeaky protest and he freezes, waiting a full five minutes before he fishes a small, hooded flashlight with a red lens from a pocket and turns it on. There are no footprints in the dust; none of the boxes have been moved recently, either.</p><p>Moving slowly to minimize the sounds made by both his own passage and the floor, he makes his way down the aisle between the stored items until he finds a door. It opens easily, the hinges silent, and he pauses to listen for another five minutes. Silence. Perhaps the house truly is uninhabited?</p><p>A quiet check of the next floor down seems to put the lie to the idea that no one lives there: there are three rooms—two outfitted as bedrooms and one that's more storage—but there aren't any personal items; there's clothing but not nearly enough for someone living there long-term (and they're a strange collection of street clothes and the clothes worn by medical personnel); there are toothbrushes and paste and over-the-counter analgesics in the bathroom but nothing else.</p><p>The scrubs in the closet set off a chain of memories: whey-faced technicians pushing him into The Chair, tending to wounds, to his arm; the smell of antiseptics and hot electronics and gun oil—he shakes his head, sharply, because none of those things are here beyond the clothes, and they're just hanging there. The larger of the two bedrooms has an en-suite half-bath, into which has been wedged a bookcase; the shelves are overflowing with books. A quick skim of titles shows them to be primarily picture books, with a fair section of one shelf dedicated to holiday books. He shakes his head at the strange collection and moves on, clearing the remaining rooms and then heading for the staircase.</p><p>The stairs lead down to the front door, big and dark-stained; there's leaded glass set into the transom above it and in the narrow windows set to either side of the door frame. In the entryway is a piece of furniture that he recognizes, <em>knows,</em> the same way he knew the... the man. His mission. <em>Steve.</em> He can't bring up the name of it, can't remember where he saw it or why he knows it, but it hardly matters. The thing is throne-like, with a tall back rising above a wide seat; it has what looks like assorted rain gear—umbrellas, ponchos, coats, possibly even a pair of pants—hanging on it, and several pairs of large rubber boots are tucked under the seat. All of it is dry and has the familiar musty-rubber scent of rain gear everywhere. To the left, his left, as he's facing the door, is a bare room with the same wooden flooring he's seen throughout the house.</p><p>On the door of the room is a sign reading:</p><p>
  <em>INTAKE IN PROGRESS</em>
</p><p>
  <em>KNOCK BEFORE OPENING</em>
</p><p>Across the entry hall is another door, this one closed. Its sign says:</p><p>
  <em>ADOPTION HAPPENING NOW!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>YAAAAAAAAY!</em>
</p><p>He presses his ear to the wood of the door, but as with the rest of the house, he hears nothing. The lever handle is locked, he doesn't have any tools with which to pick the lock, and he's reluctant to actually damage the house, which leaves him with two options. He takes a half-step back from the door, settles into a combat-ready stance, and then knocks on the door as if he has every right to do so.</p><p>Nothing happens, other than the sound of his knocking seeming to echo around the space and then fade out. He waits and nothing continues to happen. After a few minutes, he decides that nothing <em>will</em> happen if he leaves the room uncleared and moves back down the hallway.</p><p>There's an odd room tucked under the stairs that seems to be some kind of medical…suite. Sort of. There's no table, no chair (nor a Chair, but he's only seen a few rooms and there's always a basement or cellar in a house like this, so he's not discounting the possibility that one exists here), nowhere to put a patient. There is a counter which runs the length of the wall immediately to the left of the door and atop it glass canisters which hold gauze, swabs, and flat wooden sticks. There's a box of nitrile gloves, a roll of paper towel, and a spray bottle of something blue, too; across the narrow room is another short counter under a couple of shelves.</p><p>There's a scale on the end of the counter nearest him, too big to be for drugs or cooking but the wrong shape for weighing adult humans, especially with the slight curve to the weighing pan. The bins sitting on the shelves are neatly labeled: Fleas/Ticks, Ringworm, Worms, Syringes/Tubes, Bandages. He cocks his head as he reads them: <em>people</em> (or even Assets) aren't usually treated for fleas and ticks. He reaches up and takes down Fleas/Ticks and finds multiple boxes of something called <em>ParaBane</em> lined up inside, each with the same text extolling the virtues of the medication and a picture of a pair of cats, one an adult, silvery-grey with black stripes, and the other a fluffy little white kitten. <em>Safe for use at 14 days!</em> exclaim pink letters just under the kitten's chin. He puts the bin back and continues his exploration.</p><p>There are what appear to be medical charts pinned to the wall, with dates and times and doses marked down; each one has a name across the top. The names aren't what he was expecting, either; there are people-names—Charlie, Penny, Trevor—and non-people names—Jujube, Wiggles, Poof Poof. Between the apparently cat-specific flea treatment and the odd names, he wonders if he's accidentally broken into a vet clinic. Possibly a very strange vet clinic, given the vague memory that suddenly rises, unbidden, of being required to hold a whining dog as it bled, as it was stretched on a metal table and sewn up. Some of the blood had been his, he thinks, then shakes the thoughts away. He needs to concentrate on the now, and to that end he checks the cabinets.</p><p>Inside he finds protective equipment—gowns, more gloves, arm guards, booties, masks, face shields. There's also a couple of lockboxes, one labeled 'Pain Management' and the other 'PM II'. He considers breaking into them, then decides against it; it wouldn't be worth the risk of leaving a sign of his presence. The cabinets labeled Towels and Blankets hold exactly that, older-looking cotton worn from washing and thick fleece respectively, some in solid colors and others with cute animals or abstract prints on them.</p><p>In the kitchen, his clinic theory seems to be reinforced: the refrigerator is plugged in, humming, and holds very little in the way of people-food. There's plenty of cat food, however, and a handful of bottles of liquid medications that have been prescribed <em>for veterinary use only</em>, the patient species given as <em>feline</em>. If the house is a veterinary clinic, it's a very specific kind... Or maybe whoever lives here (if someone <em>does</em>) just really loves their cats. There's not a lot of evidence of cats themselves <em>in</em> the house, however—none have come up to him, or peeked around a corner, or walked by. </p><p>The kitchen cabinets are more of the same, save for two that are dedicated solely to non-perishables—rice, beans, canned goods—for people. There are frozen meals in the freezer, too; when he explores the expected cellar, there are potatoes and onions and garlic in addition to more non-perishables as well as cat food and litter. There's no room—and no secret room—for a Chair. (He checks the walls twice, with his metal hand and a knife, tap-tap-tapping at differing heights, pressing every odd-looking spot. All he finds are stray hairs, cobwebs, a couple of startled spiders, and rather a lot of dust.)</p><p>On the bottom of the farthest-back set of shelves are a couple of boxes labeled <em>MRE – 6 Pouches Each. </em>One box has the contents listed on the side as <em>Chicken Tetrazzini, Spaghetti, Huevos Rancheros, Beef Stroganoff, Chili Mac, Veggie Omelet</em>; the other claims to contain <em>Chicken Parm, Pulled Pork, Turkey Dinner, Beef Enchilada, Beef Stew, Sweet and Sour Chicken. </em>He helps himself to two each of the spaghetti and the turkey dinner, then returns to the kitchen. There are several large 3-ring binders on the counter; working from the base theory that any intel is potentially useful intel (especially in unfamiliar territory, such as his current situation), he opens up the one on top and begins to read.</p><p>After he's full and read the entirety of <em>OPERATIONS MANUAL: JELLYBEAN HOUSE,</em> he disposes of his trash in the bin that's just outside the back door (at the end of the hallway, nearly directly opposite the front door), and finishes his recon of the ground floor. There's a door that leads from the kitchen into what was probably once the formal dining room, which is now mostly empty outside of a couple of cabinets placed under a window, a tall stack of large plastic...bricks? Perhaps? He's not sure what they are, at least just from looking at them. There's a set of shelves, too, beside the kitchen door, stacked with more fleece blankets and some towels on the lowest shelves, some boxes on the middle shelves (one labeled <em>soft toys/balls, </em>another labeled <em>cams 'n' gear</em>) as well as a number of cans of cat food labeled Queen and Kitten in two sizes, and a mess of cables on the top shelf.</p><p>There's another door that leads into the hallway and faces another (closed) door. The closed door isn't locked and opens onto a room that seems to be floor-to-ceiling books. An old sofa sits in the middle, facing a cluttered coffee table, and on the coffee table is a silvery laptop. The sudden urge to open it, to get in touch with Hydra Command, is a jolt that has his hastily-eaten rations threatening to make a reappearance. <em>No. </em>No, no, no, he left it behind, left <em>them,</em> everything was broken and burning anyway and he didn't <em>want</em> to go back—</p><p>There's a cracking sound somewhere in the rest of the house that makes him jump and he's got a knife out, his body steady, as he strains to hear what made the noise. There's nothing. There's the soft whirr of the HVAC system, the hum of the fridge, the general white noise of an unoccupied house, the tiny noises of his own arm... But no footsteps, no voices, no dogs (or cats) or engines or planes or medical equipment. After two more minutes pass without incident, he finds himself abruptly exhausted. There's one room left, next to the book-filled room, and instead of a paper sign on the door there's a whiteboard. <em>QUARANTINE!</em> is written across the top in big red letters; beneath it is a space for Name(s): and Why:, both of which are currently blank. At the bottom, the red capitals continue: <em>PTCV GEAR REQD/D-CON AFTER VISIT</em>. The door is cracked a couple of inches, so he opens it and pokes his head in. It's a smaller version of the room across the hall, minus the shelving and plus a pedestal sink.</p><p>Satisfied that he's as safe as he's likely to be for the moment, he decides to retreat to the highest floor of the house to rest. Climbing back up to the attic is done mostly on automatic—he relies on his recon to remember where to put his feet, which doors were open and how wide. Securing the attic door is simple, though he adds a decently heavy box in front of it in case someone has a key; there's a lumpy couch under a dusty sheet that sucks him in as soon as he lies down on it. Eyes closed, he has just enough time to wonder if anyone found the man—<em>Steve—</em>before he drops off like a stone falling into a well.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Two days later, he's settled into something of a routine. According to the <em>OPS MANUAL,</em> Jellybean House is a base of operations for Feral To Family Rescue, a group of people who care for several colonies of feral cats; the house's namesake colony lives on the surrounding property. He'd read the remaining binders (<em>KITTENS!</em> and <em>TROUBLESHOOTING</em>), both of which laid out protocols for dealing with everything from cats abandoned on the property to kittens to injuries to deaths; there were charts and lists and instructions and phone numbers and URLs.</p><p>The entire house is covered in instructions, actually—there are pieces of paper tacked up over the washing machines (one in the basement, one upstairs in the storage room), a piece of paper taped to the front of the dishwasher (NO LITTER PANS EVER), several on the front of the cabinets listing everything from garbage pick-up day (Tuesday AM, put cans out Monday PM OR ELSE –M) to the number for Poison Control (1-800-222-1222). While he knows it is strange (less-strange, now he knows that the house is used by volunteers who might not be familiar with the fact that the plumbing can't handle clumping litter NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT DO NOT FLUSH IT THIS MEANS YOU –C), he's also relieved—it means that his chances of successfully using the washer and dryer go up exponentially and his chances of possibly burning the house down decrease by the same amount. Also, The Asset had never been expected or assigned to do something as menial as <em>laundry</em>, so there's that.</p><p>The routine mostly consists of checking the windows and doors to make sure they're secure, raiding the bookshelves, and feeding himself; he retreats to the saggy sofa in the attic whenever he hears the sound of a vehicle coming up the driveway. He reads until the people go away again, then emerges to start over again.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The people who usually show up are two women and a man, none of whom appear in the least bit either familiar or threatening. Cats appear out of what seems to be nowhere when the car pulls up, and the people are all friendly and unconcerned with anything that isn't the cats (or one another).</p><p>He watches them talk to and pet and generally assess the cats for a good ten minutes before they start moving toward the house; the cats begin a series of very insistent vocalizations when the people walk away. The man and the shorter of the two women carry big bags of dry food out of the house, down a faint path he hasn't explored yet, the cats following and yelling the whole way. The taller woman goes inside and comes back carrying a canvas bag, then goes off into the woods as well.</p><p>The people come back after twenty or thirty minutes, food bags lighter or completely empty and the canvas bag apparently holding dishes. They all go into the house and spend another half hour or so checking things off on their various lists and discussing… The cats, he assumed. He can sometimes hear their voices when they're outside, but not the content of their conversations—not unless he cracks the attic window. He does, sometimes, just to make sure they're not taking the opportunity to openly discuss being Hydra.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>On the fourth or fifth day after his arrival at the house—time is somewhat more relevant to him, but still not as much as it is for other people—his attention is caught by the sound of an engine. It doesn't sound like any of the vehicles that have visited every day, and it's arriving at the wrong time besides. Having been in the library room, he doesn't have time to make it back up to the attic; he does have time to make it to the intake room, where he crouches down at the front window to keep an eye on the yard.</p><p>A pickup truck rattles onto the gravel patch and stays there, idling, as the driver gets out. They pull a cardboard box out of the cab, carry it up to the porch, and leave it there without even knocking or trying the bell; as soon as the box is down they trot back to the truck and leave.</p><p>He waits for a few minutes to see if the truck comes back, then opens the door. The box could be donated supplies – a couple of people have done that, based on the conversations he could hear, but the items were typically left down by the mailbox at the point where the driveway joined the road. The squeaking he can hear from the box—and the way the top is folded—suggests that it's not something useful for the house.</p><p>The box contains five kittens. They're tiny, blindly paddling over one another and making sharp little sounds of distress; when he touches them, they're cold. A wave of panic swamps him because he's deeply unqualified for this kind of op and it's going to be another six hours at least before anyone comes and he doesn't have a phone so he can't call—</p><p>Phone. Phone numbers. The lists and the binders. The panic drops away as suddenly as it had come as he remembers the binders (and the telephone) in the kitchen. He has <em>intel</em>, he has sheets and bullet-pointed reminders and all the supplies he'll need. Squaring his shoulders, he takes the kittens into the house and locks the door behind himself.</p><p>After consulting the Abandoned Kittens section of the binder, he decides that the first order of business is to get the kittens warm. He gets a warming disk out of the conveniently-labeled cabinet and sticks it in the microwave (DO NOT HEAT DISKS FOR MORE THAN 4:30 OR THEY WILL EXPLODE ASK ME HOW I KNOW – R) for four minutes and twenty-five seconds, then crosses the hall to the medical room to retrieve a couple of towels and fleece blankets; he drops them on the counter before hurrying down to the basement to pick up an entire cardboard container of formula. He knows he won't need the whole thing, but it's easier to carry it all up now than have to repeatedly sneak down to replace his supply. He then has to go back to the medical room to grab some paper weight charts, a bottle and nipple, and the repurposed kitchen scale (with 'For kittens!' written on it in black marker).</p><p>When he gets back, he lines one bowl of the sink with a fleece blanket, wraps the now-heated disk in a towel, and puts it in the sink, too. The kittens join the disk and he tops it all off with the other fleece blanket. Once that's done, he sets about heating the formula, tracking the temperature with a thermometer he finds exactly where both binder and handy drawer labeling said it'd be. Then it's time to fill the bottle, pick a kitten, weigh them, and try to get them fed.</p><p>The <em>KITTENS!</em> binder is very helpful, up to the point of actually feeding the kittens. There's even a note acknowledging that there's only so much written instructions—any instructions, really—can do for a caretaker. ("At this point, it's up to the baby and you're on your own. Good luck!") He pinches the nipple of the first bottle a couple of times to get the formula flowing, then gathers up the smallest kitten—98 grams, says the scale—and offers it the nipple.</p><p>He bumps the end of the nipple against the kitten's nose and lips; the kitten's head stops wavering quite so widely and settles into swinging left to right through just a few centimeters. The next time it opens its mouth to squeak, he pops the nipple in and <em>finally</em> finally the baby starts trying to nurse. It takes a few tries, but the kitten manages a good latch at last and guzzles the formula down. When the bottle's three-quarters empty, he gently pulls the nipple away and carefully massages the kitten's sides with his flesh forefinger and thumb. After a few strokes, he half-feels, half-hears the tiny rumble of a burp; he settles the kitten back into the impromptu sink-nest and picks up one of its siblings.</p><p>Once the feeding is over, he fills in the first part of the weight chart: date, time, descriptions of the kittens, their starting weight. In the 'Notes' section, he puts down that he's feeding them formula. When he's finished with that, he double-checks his list and realizes that he hadn't picked up any gauze. He freezes at that, heart pounding, before he manages to remind himself that he's in the house alone and that he's not The Asset. Not anymore. It doesn't keep him from stealing back into the room across the hall as quietly as possible, but he finds that he can't focus on it anyway. The kittens need help to relieve themselves and he's the only one capable of assisting them.</p><p>Their first foray into post-meal cleanup is a mess. He's not sure he's ever had quite this much excrement on his hands, though he has vague memories of having to escape through a literal sewer at some point. By the time he's done with them, the kittens are warm, fed, and have all had their bottoms given warm rinses under the tap.</p><p>"And we get to do this again in three or four hours," he says to them as they snuggle together in the box. One of them, a grey tabby, yawns and then drops their head right down between their paws, apparently sound asleep. When he's satisfied with the pristine state of the kitchen, he stacks everything kitten-related that he'll need for the next couple of weeks onto the flat of formula, tops it with the box of kittens, and carries everyone upstairs to the attic. He's not entirely sure why he's hiding them—in fact, he's deliberately not thinking about it, lest he throw himself into some kind of spiral—but hide them he will. Along with himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turns out, he wasn't <em>quite </em>as successful in hiding his presence as he thought he was.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, our kitten book is gone."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"The kitten book, it's gone."</p><p>"That's weird, it was there yesterday."</p><p>"Yeah, and this morning. You didn't move it?"</p><p>"No. Maybe Carl took it into town to make copies of it? We've been meaning to do that for a while now."</p><p>"Maybe."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"A flat of milk replacer is missing."</p><p>"It's missing?"</p><p>"Yeah, I was just down in the basement to do inventory like I do every month and we're short a flat."</p><p>"Okay, that's kind of weird. Maybe we didn't replace it after last month's thing?"</p><p>"No, we did, I have it written down here with the date and everything."</p><p>"Huh."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Someone keeps pulling the shower curtain closed in the upstairs bathroom."</p><p>"It's not me."</p><p>"I haven't showered here since... I can't remember, but it was probably three months ago."</p><p>"Well, it's not me either, because I, uh, think it makes the bathroom feel smaller when the curtain's closed so I pull it back every time and I swear to God that when we left yesterday it was open. I went up there just now and it was fuckin' closed again."</p><p>"Okay…"</p><p>"Hey, I'm not saying I believe in ghosts or aliens or whatever, I'm just saying something <em>weird</em> is going on around here."</p><p>"Maybe someone broke in to use the shower?"</p><p>"Why would they do that?"</p><p>"I don't know, it was just a suggestion. Also, if I were homeless, I'd totally break into someone's house to use the shower."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Meanwhile...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm choosing to err on the side of caution, here, so: there is a very minor and non-graphic mention of Hydra agents taking their own lives below.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Nat, I need to get out there, to go find—" Steve stops talking as Natasha shakes her head at him. It'd been a week since Insight Day and he's nearly climbing the walls with the need to <em>do something</em> about the fact that Bucky was missing.</p><p>"You're not going to find him by just going out and... What, calling his name like he's a lost pet? You need <em>intel, </em>Steve, and you don't have it." She looks him over, once, a thoughtful expression on her face.</p><p>"I have the file you gave me," Steve says, brandishing it at her as if it was a talisman that could ward off whatever sensible point she was about to make. "You said it was a thread to pull on."</p><p>"I told you you might not like what you find, and it's all—" Natasha shakes her head again. "You need <em>current</em> intel, not the pieces of the past that you'll get if you chase after what's in that file. It won't lead you to him."</p><p>"How do you know?" Steve crosses his arms and frowns at her.</p><p>"Because Stark and I have already been looking for him. We've already pulled on a number of threads from both the intel we already have and info from the Insight files." She points at the folder for emphasis and adds, "Those threads led to dead ends, empty bases and Hydra loyalists that took their own lives. There's a handful of data retrieval specialists on Stark's payroll that are processing the drives they wiped before they killed themselves, but they can only work so fast... And I really don't think we're going to get much from them, considering that what we <em>have</em> seen is mostly logistics and supply-chain information for IT deployment."</p><p>"Doesn't mean there <em>isn't</em> anything there," Steve says, because he's nothing if not steadfast in his belief that all roads will eventually lead to Bucky. He does, however, have to concede her point. Grudgingly. "Looking for fresh tracks is more helpful than trying to follow a trail that's months or more old."</p><p>"Exactly. Now, let's go see what Stark has to say."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Go outside and play, Cap," is what Tony says, when they get to the lab Tony has commandeered at his Maryland Stark Industries complex. He points in the direction of the big windows looking out over a parking lot that backs onto a tree-lined embankment which seems to be the starting point for a network of walking and cycling paths. "It's a beautiful day and you'll rot your brain if you do nothing but play video games."</p><p>Steve glances at the downpour that obscures the far reaches of the lot, then looks at Natasha for a few moments before he says, "Have you looked outside recently, Tony?"</p><p>"Of course I have. Or I've had Jarvis do it for me. What brings you two up here, anyway?" Tony puts down the circuit board he'd been holding and focuses on his visitors.</p><p>"Our good Captain would like fresh breadcrumbs," Natasha says.</p><p>"Breadcrumbs? I mean, I guess I could buy you a bakery, but—" Tony blinks as Natasha gestures at the folder Steve is carrying, then nods. "Oh. Sorry, Hansel, but the birds haven't found anything yet."</p><p>One corner of Steve's mouth ticks up, a bittersweet flicker of memory—<em>I understood that reference—</em>before his eyebrows pull together. "They—you—haven't?"</p><p>"Not yet. A number of false positives have cropped up, but they're easily vetted—too short, too tall, one was too female, definitely not enough metal arms on any of them, you get the picture," Tony says.</p><p>"I see," Steve says, instead of asking if Tony was absolutely certain they were all false.</p><p>"As soon as we have anything concrete, we will tell you," Natasha says, looking Steve in the eye.</p><p>"Yeah, sure," Tony says, grabbing a tablet from the middle of the table and tapping at the face of it. "Set up a ping for you and everything."</p><p>"Thank you," Steve says, looking around the lab in a bid to figure out what he's supposed to <em>do</em> with all of the waiting in his future. "Is... Is there anything else I can help with?"</p><p>Natasha and Tony share a look before they look back at Steve. "Well, there <em>is</em> a Hydra outpost that needs checking on," Natasha says. "I have to warn you, though, that there's not likely to be much Nazi-punching involved."</p><p>"I'm sure there'll be a few doors that need kicking in," Tony says, picking up his circuit board again.</p><p>"True," Natasha says, heading for the door of the lab and gesturing for Steve to follow her. "Come on, I'll read you in on the op."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Kitten Wrangling For Fun And Profit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter: Standard Winter Soldier Trauma involving non-graphic flashbacks/intrusive thoughts. </p><p>This chapter also includes a tiny Easter egg as a nod to one of my favorite fics, which also happens to involve feral cats.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite the straightforwardness of the task at hand, he discovers that being a replacement for a mother cat is a <em>lot</em> of work. The needs of a newborn kitten are simple: food, cleanliness, and warmth. He can—and does—provide them, but he'd been unprepared for the way round-the-clock three-hour feeds would remind him of training as The Asset. It's manageable, however, since The Asset had never had an assignment that involved such vulnerable materiel. (Not that he thinks of the kittens as materiel. They're <em>kittens,</em> tiny, blind, wholly dependent on him as big and clumsy as he is; there had been nothing like them that he can remember.)</p><p>Once he establishes a plan and a routine, things go much more smoothly—no one needs a bath after feeding and, as the book calls it, pottying. He still needs to wash his hands, but that's perfectly normal.</p><p>The most difficult aspect of life as a mother cat is the fact that very few of his clothes are soft. It's not really something the kittens <em>require,</em> considering that in the wild they'd have been born in a nest with a dirt floor, but it's... The <em>kittens</em> are soft, and the How To Build An Indoor Nest section of the book says that anything relatively soft and absorbent will do in a pinch (though the recommendation is several layers of lightweight fleece blankets); he finds himself wanting to be soft, too. He wants the kittens to know him as something, some<em>one</em>, different from who he was when he first stumbled onto the house.</p><p>To that end, he digs through the boxes labeled 'Clothes' in the attic. He finds T-shirts with logos and pictures printed on them, all of them unfamiliar (teen-aged turtles were probably some kind of joke); as long as they fit and were comfortable, he didn't care. Pants were slightly more scarce—he thought he might have to resort to wearing a pair of not-actually-shorts that had a strawberry motif he'd located—before he finally found some denim pants that didn't quite fit. Fortunately, his belt went through the loops and took care of that problem.</p><p>Once he's clothed more acceptably, he's happier to lie on the floor and cuddle the kittens against his chest. Their eyes are beginning to open, and they're getting a little more lively in the few minutes they're between being fed and being asleep. He's pretty sure the little grey and white one tried to walk on all fours instead of crawling when he'd set them down after the last feed...</p><p>His new life free of Hydra is as terrifying as it is wonderful. Taking care of the kittens and himself while carefully avoiding leaving traces of his presence is a marvelous distraction from the borderline panic that hums at the back of his head; when he lies down to sleep, it often comes screaming to the forefront. What sleep he does manage is often restless; when he dreams, the contents are shadowy and unsettling but rarely specific.</p><p>The chronic exhaustion dragging at him some eight or nine days after he'd taken on the task of caring for his litter is the only explanation he can think of for why he doesn't really register the sound of someone unlocking the front door while he's washing up at the kitchen sink.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in here?"</p><p>He jerks around and stares blankly at the woman who had come into the kitchen. "Washing bottles," he says, because it was the first thing that came into his foggy head.</p><p>"Yeah, okay," she says, tapping at the screen of her phone. "So I'm gonna call the cops—"</p><p>"I have kittens," he says, panic washing up around his brain and narrowing his focus to doing what was necessary to complete his mission. <em>Without</em> bloodshed—that was very important. "You're not supposed to be here." She <em>wasn't;</em> it was several hours too early for the usual visit.</p><p>"Uh, yeah, I am. <em>You</em>, on the other hand—" She frowns at him. "Kittens? Did <em>you</em> take the stuff we're—"</p><p>"Someone left them on the porch last week. Their eyes were closed, they were cold, the book said—"</p><p>"Last <em>week?!</em>"</p><p>"Yes—"</p><p>"Why the fuck did you—How long—"</p><p>"You weren't going to be back—it was going to take too long—"</p><p>"Where the fuck are they?"</p><p>He shifts slightly, dropping his gaze to the floor. The tone of her voice brooks no arguments, allows for no excuses. "Attic."</p><p>"And what are they doing up there?"</p><p>"That's where I've been staying."</p><p>"You've—"</p><p>"Yes." He looks at the clock and then back down at her. "Please, I need to get this finished up and get back to them—"</p><p>"Go get them and bring them down here."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"Do it <em>now</em> or I call the cops," she says, tone and expression still hard.</p><p>Fighting the strange urge to salute by ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, he says, "Yes, ma'am," and heads for the steps. He knows what has to happen next: he'll turn the babies over to the tiny woman and then he'll have to leave. The kittens start squeaking and chirping the moment he opens the door to the attic and his heart sinks.  They're too little, still; he hasn't had enough time with them; it isn't <em>fair.</em> He shakes the whiny thoughts away and hurries across the room to the box he'd turned into a cozy nest for them.</p><p>"Hey, kiddos," he says, voice soft; he doesn't know if they can hear him yet but he doesn't want to scare them if so. "Come on, I know, you're hungry. You'll get fed in a few." Kneeling beside the box, he gathers the sheets of data he'd recorded; he folds them up and sticks them in a back pocket before he picks up the box. He eyes the scale and the stash of towels, then decides to leave them where they are for the moment.</p><p>Downstairs, he gently sets the box on the counter, then takes out the papers. "Here's their names and weights and feeding times and anything I noticed," he said, putting them on the worktop beside the box. "They're getting—they <em>are</em>—hungry, now. They're supposed to get their bottles in about ten minutes."</p><p>The woman picks up the pages and skims them, then turns to look at the kittens. She reaches into the box and scoops up the stripy orange one with the white socks and white blaze on their chest, gently turning them over to inspect their pudgy little tummy. "Hm. I see what you mean…"</p><p>He recognizes the tone of her voice, so he dares to stand his ground and say, "But?"</p><p>"I think it's just—" She turns the kitten over, then around so she can lift their tail—"her bellybutton. We'll keep an eye on it and have our vet check it out, just to be sure."</p><p>"Okay. Well… That's good." He stands there, awkwardly, unsure of what he's waiting for.</p><p>The woman puts the kitten back and checks over the others before she turns back to him, a considering expression on her face. "I'm not gonna call the cops," she says, raising her eyebrows at him, "even though I probably should. You still need to make up for the whole breaking-and-entering thing, though, and I think I've got a good punishment—"</p><p>He recoils physically at the word, a cascade of remembered agonies flooding through him as he backs up. It doesn't matter that he's over twice her size, that he could kill her with a blow; she's got the authority and the power and he's had very specific reactions to anyone embodying those qualities ground into him over and over and over again. He's on his knees before he really understands what his body is doing, trembling, his hands behind his back and clutching at the opposite wrist.</p><p>"Hey," she says, dropping into a cross-legged sitting position, voice soft and coaxing, "hey now, I'm sorry. You're all right. It's safe here, I promise. I know you think today's the worst… Huh, that's not applicable to this, never mind. But you are safe here, okay? No one's going to hurt you, no one's gonna send you back to… Uh, no, that doesn't apply either. Uh… You probably don't have fleas, ringworm, regular worms, or ticks, either…"</p><p>The last sentence drags him out of his misery enough that he looks up at her, frowning, and dares to speak. "I…don't think so." Then he flinches and lets his head hang again.</p><p>"That's great," she says, smiling at him despite the fact that he's no longer looking in her direction. "Um, so… I don't usually do this with people, just cats. Seriously, though, I'm sorry I scared you, okay? I won't turn you in and I'm not going to hurt you. No one else who comes by will, either. My name's Marigot, and my partners Ree and Carl and I are part of Feral to Family… Which you probably already know, since I'm guessing you're the one that took the kitten book. That's okay! You clearly had a reason to, and since I'm pretty sure you didn't, like, destroy it, that's fine. Not mad about it."</p><p>She keeps talking, a mostly-steady stream of commentary about the group and the cats sprinkled with reassurances about the fact that he was safe and wouldn't be hurt (and, once or twice, that he wouldn't have to worry about fleas or ticks or worms again), for the next five minutes. He slowly uncoils as he listens, her unthreatening posture and warm regard for the cats and people she cared for helping to ease him back into something like the competent mindset he'd had before.</p><p>"…and then Poof Poof looked me right in the face and deliberately pushed the syringe off the counter," Marigot says, shaking her head at the memory. "He's such a brat sometimes, I swear."</p><p>He's about to say something, maybe ask how Poof Poof got his name, when he's interrupted by a piercing little cry. "Oh—"</p><p>"The babies," she says, and scrambles to her feet. She misses the way he flinches, the way he nearly falls over backward, because she's looking at the box on the counter instead. "C'mon, we need to get them fed."</p><p>Orders, yes, he can do orders—It's <em>not</em> an order, she's not—Fuck, <em>move,</em> Asset, you've got a fuckin' mission and you know what happens—</p><p>She turns around and drops to one knee, the stripy orange kitten with the white markings in her hands. "Hey," she says, soft again, "can you help me feed the babies? Or do you need to take five?"</p><p>The little orange thing in the handler's—<em>not a fucking handler—</em>the little thing—<em>it's a kitten—</em>there's a chorus of high-pitched unhappy sounds and he can do something about it—<em>can't not allowed what the fuck—</em></p><p>"Okay, okay, it's okay," she says, half to the kittens and half to the now mostly-unresponsive man on the floor of the kitchen. "We'll figure this out. Okay. Um." She takes a deep breath, then stands up, returns the kitten to its siblings, then picks up the box and walks toward the guy. "Can you do me a favor? Keep an eye on these guys while I get their bottles ready?"</p><p>Cardboard box slides into view, full of agitated little bodies. Grey, stripes, orange, white, tiny little button-bright eyes and uncoordinated limbs. <em>Kittens</em>. He blinks a few times and dredges up a response from somewhere. "Yeah."</p><p>"Great! Just a couple of minutes, promise," she says, and gets to work.</p><p>He puts his hand—the 'real' one, the one that he trusts more—into the box and tries to soothe the grumpiness away with gentle strokes of his fingers. It doesn't really work on the kittens, but the feeling of their downy fur, their warm little bellies, their surprisingly large claws catching at his skin calms him down, brings him back. He knows where he is, remembers what he's been doing; he settles himself tailor-fashion on the linoleum so he can tend to the kittens more comfortably.</p><p>A few minutes later, Marigot takes the first couple of bottles over and slowly lowers them into the guy's line of sight. "Here you go, you can get started on feeding them."</p><p>"Thanks," he manages, the word raspy and sticking a little on the way out. He takes the bottles, tucks one into the corner of the box beside the heat disk, then picks up Pebble. Pebble—grey and white—is the smallest of the kittens, still easily fitting into his palm as he holds her prone; his steady metal hand puts the nipple of the bottle up to Pebble's nose. It takes the kitten a couple of tries to figure out what's bumping into her face, but once she does, she latches on and begins to nurse enthusiastically.</p><p>"Aw, lookit that," Marigot coos, settling down on the other side of the box with the remaining bottles. She picks up another kitten—the orange and white girl—and offers her a nipple, murmuring <em>good job</em> when she latches with a soft slurp; when they're suckling with abandon, she looks up at him and says, "Tell me their names?"</p><p>He blinks a few times, remembering that she'd looked at the weight charts before they'd started feeding the kittens. Then he realizes that she's probably trying to help keep him distracted and nods. "This is Pebble. 'Cause she looked like a little rock, all curled up. And you have Basil."</p><p>"Basil and Pebble, okay. And the others?" She smiles at him, then looks back down into the box between them.</p><p>"The tri-colored one is Piroshki, the tabby one with white markings is Dolmades, and the all-tabby one is Knish." He checks the level of formula left in Pebble's bottle—she's eaten about half—and then glances up at Marigot. "I was, um... I was hungry. When I named them."</p><p>Marigot laughs and says, "I suspected! There are some good restaurants in the area for all kinds of different food, Thai and Greek and that kind of thing."</p><p>"I don't think I've ever had Thai," he says with a shrug. "But I like Greek." Or he thinks he does, anyway.</p><p>They continue to make small talk as they get the kittens fed, burped, and cleaned up; by the time they're all sleepy again, he's feeling almost as clear-headed as he'd been before the woman had caught him at the sink. He's stroking Basil's side when he finally works up the nerve to speak to her again. "I'm sorry. For breaking in, and, and... I'll, uh, I'll go get my things and get out of here in a minute."</p><p>"You can get your things, sure, but you'd better not be planning on abandoning these kittens," she says, crossing her arms and giving him a cool look.</p><p>"I—what? They're...not mine?" He's not sure what to make of the expression on Marigot's face.</p><p>She shrugs at the assertion. "You've bonded with them," she says, pointing at his hand. "And besides that, you've done a fantastic job with them. They're right on-target for the milestones of normal kitten development, some of which is up to nature but the rest of which is up to you. Sure, you got an incredibly easy litter to start with, but it's still great."</p><p>"Oh," he says, a little lost and a little pleased all at once. "I… The book helped. Having the best intel available increases the chances of mission success—" He shuts his mouth as he catches the expression on the woman's face.</p><p>"Well… Yeah, that makes sense. And I'm glad the book helped out. Is this… Have you ever done this before? Looking after bottle-babies?"</p><p>"No. Yes? No. I… I did something like it? I think." He'd been so focused on the cats that he'd sort of forgotten about the fact that he was missing big chunks of his memories. "I, uh, have some… Memory problems."</p><p>"Huh," she says, then shrugs again. "Well, the babies are in great shape, and that's the part I'm most concerned about right now. And if you haven't done this before, that means the kitten book <em>works,</em> which means that we really need to get it copied and bound up to give out to our volunteers."</p><p>He nods at her, but he's only half-listening. The warm softness under his hand is lulling and he really hasn't gotten much sleep in the last few weeks.</p><p>"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you—what's your name?"</p><p>"Uh—" The sleepiness is gone, the shock of the question shivering along his spine as he tries to figure out what to tell her. He could say the name the mission—Steve, his name was <em>Steve</em>—had said, or he could try improvising. "J-Jay. Jay… Barr." Improvisation it is, then, since he hadn't put much thought into it. Some small part of him at the back of his head is making disapproving noises at how dumb/obvious the pseudonym is, but he ignores it.</p><p>"Jay Barr. Nice to meet you, Jay." Marigot smiles at him for a moment, then gives him a stern look. "Go get your things and move into one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Forgive me for saying so, but you look like five miles of bad road—get a couple of hours of sleep, okay? I'll look after these guys and we can talk a little more when you wake up."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"We—Feral to Family—have been thinking about asking for volunteers willing to dedicate their time to particular cat demographics," Marigot says to him as they're getting bottles ready a few hours later. "We have Mavis, who's amazing at luring, trapping, and otherwise rounding up our target cats, and of course we have a rotating schedule of people who come in to help socialize the ferals that seem to be receptive to that kind of thing, as well as generally feed and clean and all that. We <em>don't</em> have a dedicated kitten person, though."</p><p>Jay hums acknowledgement, considering the idea. "I just started," he says, hesitant; it's not that he's wholly opposed to the idea, but... They're so <em>vulnerable,</em> and he's so <em>big,</em> and... all the bullshit that came with his fucked-up brain.</p><p>"True. And like I said, you got an incredibly easy litter to start off with. Sure, Pebble is a little smaller than her siblings, but I'm pretty sure she'll catch up once they're old enough to start on slightly more solid food." Marigot lines up the rings that hold the nipples on the counter, then sets a nipple beside each one. "But that doesn't take away the fact that you managed to feed them, enough that they've gained weight, kept them clean, cleaned up after them <em>and</em> yourself, fed and bathed yourself, and done it all while also staying hidden."</p><p>"Yes," Jay says, carefully pouring warmed formula from the measuring cup into the bottles arrayed before him. Looking at it from a civilian perspective, it was quite an accomplishment. "You aren't here as much as if you actually lived here."</p><p>"Yeah, that's true," Marigot says, putting the nipples onto the bottles after he's filled them. "Think how much easier it'll be now that you don't have to worry about giving away your presence."</p><p>"You... You're sure?" He turns to the sink and rinses the measuring cup out. "That you want me to be around the babies. To be here. I—you don't even know me."</p><p>"Haven't seen a reason you shouldn't be so far," she says, making sure each bottle is sealed right and tight. "Do you have seizures that you don't have medication for? Because that might make a difference. Or is there something else going on that might mean you'd <em>accidentally</em> hurt them?"</p><p>He thinks about it for a few moments, brow furrowing as he reaches for the nearest bottles. "No. Not that I know of." Jay's frown deepens as he glances at Marigot. "I, uh, have memory problems, though. Might have forgotten." Hadn't he already said that? The irony wasn't lost on him.</p><p>Marigot nods and gathers the remaining bottles. "And unfortunately, I think the only way to find out is to wait and see. Unless there's some kind of test or scan that can be done? I don't know. Ask me about cats and I can tell you more than you want to know, but humans? Nah." She gives him a smile and nods in the direction of the formal dining room. "C'mon, let's get 'em fed and I can tell you more about what you'll be doing."</p><p>He bites the end of his tongue, hard, concentrating on keeping the pressure just high enough to hurt but not enough to injure. <em>She doesn't know—can't know—no doctors—fuck, just a </em>suggestion<em> not an order not a promise—</em>They go through to the former dining room and Jay stops in the doorway. The kittens are curled up together in a round bed, the sides ten inches high about three-quarters of the way around. There's a low spot in the front, maybe three inches high and ten wide, where they can clamber in and out. One of the fleece blankets is spread out in front of the bed, giving them a cushioned floor to explore; a couple of large fuzzy balls and a stuffed toy mouse nearly as large as Pebble are sitting near the entrance to the bed. The whole thing is surrounded by a low wall of plastic blocks, making it safe for the kittens to explore. "This..." Then he spots the camera. "What—is... Is that a camera?" He whispers the question, scanning the room for more cameras, microphones, anything that might reveal his location.</p><p>"Yeah, but I'm not streaming, yet," Marigot says, leaning down to set the bottles in the scale she'd left on the top of the wall nearest the door. "We—"</p><p>"I can't," Jay whispers, backing out of the doorway, "I can't, I have to—you don't—"</p><p>"Oh, hey, no—" Marigot leaves the scale and follows him back into the kitchen. "Jay, it's not—It's only for the kittens," she says, pulling her phone from her pocket. "We do it to show how they develop, so people don't get a female cat and let her get pregnant just so they can show their kids 'the miracle of life' or whatever bullshit they think it's accomplishing." Grumbling, she pokes at the screen of her phone, then turns it toward Jay. "Here's a feed from our headquarters, Caboose Colony house. This is Q-T-314 and she had four kittens last week."</p><p>Jay is caught between dropping the bottles he holds and fleeing and the pull of responsibility; his decision is delayed by the presentation of Marigot's phone. On the screen is an adult silver tabby with white feet, lying on her side with her eyes closed. Two tiny versions of herself (one with a pink collar and one with a purple collar) are busy nursing, while a black and white kitten sleeps draped over one of mama's front legs and a white-with-two-black-socks kitten is curled up between mama's leg (and their sibling) and mama's chin. As he watches, Purple Collar detaches from their nipple, then begins insistently rooting at the nipple occupied by Pink Collar. Pink retaliates by vehemently smacking Purple Collar on the head a half-dozen times with one miniature foot; before Jay can really formulate a reaction, Purple starts flailing at their littermate. "There's other nipples," he says, before he can stop himself.</p><p>Marigot laughs. "Milkbar fight?"</p><p>"Milkbar? Oh, I get it," he says, a smile tugging briefly at his mouth. "Yeah."</p><p>"The cameras are set up to be on the cats," Marigot says, still holding her phone out so Jay can keep watching. "We try really hard to keep people off-screen as much as possible, especially our volunteers. I don't want—I know there are people out there who do something like this, but also make it about them as much as they can. They want... They want to be famous? I guess? I just want to help the cats, and people love to watch kitten antics, so..."</p><p>On the small screen, Purple has managed to dislodge Pink, but Pink is still blocking access to the nipple by attempting to relatch. "I don't... I need to not be...seen," Jay says, trying to find the words to explain the almost dreamlike experience of escaping Hydra. If she thinks he's got a few screws loose, that's one thing; if she thinks he's a danger, that's another altogether. Even if he <em>is</em> dangerous, which—Ugh. He's getting distracted. "I didn't desert. I'm not, not... AWOL." That was right, wasn't it? He was pretty sure that was right. "But I have... There might be people looking for me. I don't want them to find you. I don't want to be famous, either."</p><p>"Okay," Marigot says, sounding serious. She turns his words over for a moment, then shrugs at him. "And that's actually another point in your favor, by the way. Anyone who comes in looking for fame and glory and an easy job playing with kittens all day long is going to be very sad. You already know how much work they are and you want the attention on them, so... Yeah, I don't see why you shouldn't be the new Kitten Wrangler."</p><p>"I... All right. Okay. Kitten Wrangler. I can do that." Probably.</p><p>"Great," she says, smiling at him as she stops the video and then pockets her phone once more. "Let's get these guys fed and I'll fill you in on the cam setup."</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Along Came A Spider</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation for the Russian in the end notes. Nivelle's wonderful picture of Bucky reading to the kittens is here, too.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony and Natasha exchange looks after they've watched the five seconds of footage that Jarvis had flagged for them. It's not much, just three seconds of profile and two seconds of gloved left hand and tiny calico kitten, but if it had been flagged then they needed to check it out.</p><p>"We're going to vet this before we tell Steve," Natasha says.</p><p>"Ha," Tony says, looking pleased for a few moments before he sobers again. "Yeah, of course. Don't want to get his hopes up only to have them crash and burn. How're you going to do it?"</p><p>Natasha raises an eyebrow at his assumption, but doesn't otherwise deny it. "How do you feel about starting a non-profit that donates to animal rescue organizations?"</p><p>"Set it up with Pepper," Tony says, then his forehead wrinkles a little. "Actually, ask her about it, first. We might already have one. Also, how's donating money going to tell us whether that's Barnes or not?"</p><p>"This particular charity is a very quiet one," Natasha says. "Anyone can nominate a recipient, and once the recipient organization has been researched and deemed eligible, Ms Rushman—the charity's public-facing employee and happy bearer of the financial good news—pays a visit to explain everything and meet the people behind all the hard work."</p><p>"And you think this will work?"</p><p>"I think it will do some good," Natasha says, pulling a phone from her pocket and checking on something. "And if it is Barnes... It will give us a chance to assess his state of mind. I'm not entirely on-board with reuniting the two of them right away. Too many variables."</p><p>"I mean, I'm still just a <em>little</em> upset about the whole parents thing, but..." Tony sighed, fiddling with what was probably a stylus. "But I know what it's like. Needing to see a friendly face and they're... miles away."</p><p>They sit in silence for a few moments before Natasha says, "Yes. All right, I'm going to go see Pepper, then arrange a visit with Feral to Family," as she rises from her seat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>Jay hears Marigot's familiar footsteps, accompanied by those of a stranger, cross the front porch. After an initial adrenaline spike, he reminds himself that Marigot had mentioned a visitor coming by today—something about a charitable donation—and goes back to reading <em>A Child's Christmas in Wales</em> to the kittens. He's been talking to them since the day they'd arrived; sometimes about how he was feeling, sometimes about the weather or what he could see around them or the odd memory. Steve is rarely a topic, and Hydra never comes up, at least not named so blatantly. Once the streaming started, however, he'd begun working his way through the little bookcase in the half-bath.</p><p><em>A Child's Christmas</em> is poetic, beautiful; a little sad but not in a bad way. His memories of childhood, of home, of holidays are hazy at best, but there's still an echo of familiarity in the pictures the author builds up. He's half-listening to the tour that Marigot is giving, discomfort growing with every step closer, until he snaps the book shut and heaves himself up onto his knees. Jay drapes himself over the wall and focuses on the kittens, on the way Pebble curls into herself and how Knish has flopped over Basil.</p><p>"And this is where we usually put our pregnant cats or orphaned kittens, as long as they don't need to be quarantined," Marigot says, as she pauses outside the door. She taps her knuckles on the frame before stepping through. "Jay is our resident Kitten Wrangler. Jay? This is Natalie Rushman, who's here on behalf of The Maria Stark Foundation's Rescue Fund. Apparently someone nominated us as a worthy cause in the area."</p><p>Jay forces himself to look, bracing himself to make an escape out the window if he has to. "Hello."</p><p>"Nice to meet you, Jay," Natalie says. She's slightly taller than Marigot, her dark hair in a braid and tortoiseshell-framed glasses on her face. There's no shock of recognition, no sign that she's anything except a mid-level office worker in a typical skirt-suit and sensible flats. Natalie comes closer and kneels beside the wall on the opposite side from Jay. "Oh, wow, they're adorable! Who's who?"</p><p>"Um. This is Knish," Jay says, pointing at the little tabby. "He's on top of his sister Basil. This is Pebble, and the calico is Piroshki, and the tabby-tuxie is Dolmades."</p><p>"Pebble looks more like a <em>vareniki,</em> all curled up like that," Natalie says, her tone still perky.</p><p>The word brings to mind tangy cherries and a lightly sweetened creamy filling, but he ignores it. "I thought she was a rock at first," Jay explains. "And then I was hungry, and..."</p><p>Natalie laughs, apparently delighted by this. "I see! Is mama hiding in the cabinet?"</p><p>"No, they were left. On the porch. By themselves." Jay can't stop the scowl that takes over his face as he recalls the way he met the kittens. "Some a-absolute, uh, jerk just...put them in a box and dropped them off. Like, like... Like trash. And they aren't, they're <em>babies,</em> they—" He cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and gently pets Knish's side. He glances up just enough to see that Natalie's hands have curled into fists, her knuckles white. "They can't, <em>couldn't,</em> do anything to deserve it. Being left."</p><p>"No, of course not. Well." Natalie takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, deliberately relaxing her hands. "Good thing they were left <em>here,</em> isn't it?"</p><p>"Absolutely," Marigot says. "I'd prefer that no one left any kittens anywhere, especially without their mother, but better to leave them with us than anywhere else."</p><p>"Yes," Jay agrees, looking at Natalie's hands again; he glances at her face. She's looking at the cuddle-puddle with a soft expression, lips curved into a slight smile. "They're safe now. Fed and clean and healthy. And very happy."</p><p>"And you get to spend your days with these cuties?" Natalie says.</p><p>"Yes," he says, feeling himself settle into a mindset that's less angry and more contemplative. "It's—the kittens are wonderful to watch. They get stronger, learn new things, every day. Today, Knish and Piroshki discovered the ping-pong ball moves when you touch it. They pushed it back and forth for a few minutes before they got sleepy and had to rest."</p><p>Natalie chuckles at that.  "I'm sorry I missed it."</p><p>"You can see it on the, the video. Um, YouTube..." Jay looks over to Marigot.</p><p>"We have some live feeds and a bunch of clips up on YouTube," Marigot says, "under the name feral-the numeral two-family-rescue-jellybean, all one word and all lower-case. You can go back twelve hours on the live feeds, so—Jay, do you know when the ping-pong match started?"</p><p>"It was about fifteen minutes after they woke up from the nap they had after their morning feeding, so... Maybe a quarter after eleven?" Jay frowns in thought, doing his best to ignore the flare of fear at not being able to give a precise time. "Possibly later, but not by much."</p><p>"That's local time, too, so if you're staying in the area today, you'll have until about then tonight to catch it," Marigot adds.</p><p>"I'll definitely have to check it out," Natalie says, her smile a little wider now. "Thank you."</p><p>"Sure—Oh," Marigot pulls her phone out of her hip pocket as it makes an odd trilling sound. "Excuse me, I need to answer this." She touches the screen, already saying 'Helen, hi, thanks for calling' as she leaves the room.</p><p>"That's lucky," Natalie says, fixing Jay with an evaluating look. "Marigot said you're a veteran. May I ask where you served and with what branch?"</p><p>"I, yes," Jay says, jerking his gaze up from the kittens; the change in questioning causes a short in his staticky brain and he can't come up with a lie fast enough. Vague truths will have to do. "Um. Overseas. Army. Discharged."</p><p>"I'm not interested in turning you in for dereliction of duty," Natalie says, quietly. "I'm not with the army. I think we have a mutual friend who would like to see you again, though."</p><p>"We can't," he says, getting to his feet and taking one step back from the kittens and then one step toward the center of the room. Since he has no idea what she's capable of, he wants to stay close enough that he can easily tackle her if she threatens the kittens. "I don't know you, never seen you before, I <em>know</em> I haven't—I <em>won't</em> go—If you try to hurt anyone, the, the kittens or Marigot—"</p><p>"I really am here to give these people money," Natalie says, sitting back on her heels, her hands resting lightly on the top of the blocks. "But I'm also here to see if you're the long-missing friend of Steve Rogers."</p><p>"Steve—" The name freezes him in place for a few moments, but the woman stays where she is.</p><p>"Yes. Captain Rogers, formerly of the US Army, currently part of the Avengers Initiative. His last mission was to prevent the use of several massive weapons platforms to kill millions." Natalie lifted her chin in Jay's direction. "During the op, he ran into his first and oldest friend, who subsequently disappeared. Steve's been worried about him."</p><p>Conflicting impulses lead to Jay's hands curling and uncurling, his left arm shifting and resettling under the long sleeve of his shirt as he did. He notices Natalie's look at the left side of his body and knows he's been caught. Unsure of where the conversation might lead, he decides to stay where he is, poised between flight and defense. "He... He's worried?"</p><p>"Yes. We've got him contained for now, but he's still ready and willing to raze whatever obstacles stand between himself and assuring your safety and health," she says, her mouth now twisted with a wry sort of smile. "All I want to know is if you are the man he's looking for—if that's your identity, anyway, we all change over time—and if you want me to tell him where you are."<br/><br/></p><p>"I..." Jay spreads his hands, helplessly, as he considers the question. "This... You could be offering a trap."</p><p>" Меня зовут Наталья Романова. Я паук," she says, her body language still open and tone calm. " Я жил в красной комнате."</p><p>"Вы—" He shakes his head, shakes off the shackles of the language. There's nothing specific that comes up at the mention of <em>красная </em><em>комната</em>, just the feeling that it had been like Hydra—training, orders, punishments. If she had lived there—been one of their pupils—then she could be very dangerous for Steve. "You call yourself his friend—"</p><p>"He's one of the few I trust," Natalie—Natalia—says. "I'm going to reach into my left pocket and get a card, all right?" She moves slowly, deliberately, extracting the card with two fingers and holding it up to show him before she puts it on the wall. "My contact information. Steve's, too, on the back."</p><p>"Why do you trust him?" The question is out before he realizes he's going to ask.</p><p>"He gave me a chance," she says without hesitation. "Several, really. He hasn't let me down yet, even if he <em>did</em> bring down SHIELD in addition to Hydra." Natalia pauses, then tips her head and adds, "Steve was worried about what dumping the raw data files would do to me, my covers, when we were discussing how to make sure that Hydra couldn't slink away into the shadows. I thought he was being old-fashioned, because I'm a woman. He said that no, it was that he knew what it was like to suddenly have everyone think they're entitled to you, your secrets, just because they've read a few things about you."</p><p>Jay can't figure out why he's been given so much trust, but he has. Marigot and the rest of Feral to Family have consistently demonstrated that they can be trusted as much as they trust, which is... He knows it could simply be a long con, a trap baited with kindness; they're all experienced with the sniper-like patience required for capturing the most suspicious of feral cats. But. <em>But.</em> The longer he's in the house, the more he listens to the discussions about the cats, the worries over bills and getting the cats the care they need, the more he thinks that the staff and volunteers are just as they appear.</p><p>"If you say no, we'll leave you alone, unless you get in touch." Natalia taps the card with one finger as she speaks. "Stark—Tony, Howard's son—will scrub any actual glimpses of your face from the internet. We're in the middle of taking down what's left of Hydra, too."</p><p>Marigot's on her way back; Jay can hear her steps. Hoping no one will ask him for the reason behind his next answer, he returns to kneeling by the wall, his gaze on the still-snoozing kittens as he says, "You can tell him. Where I am. I... I don't know, I'm not sure I'm... who he thinks I am."</p><p>"All right. Thank you," Natalia says, putting her sweet smile back on her face as Marigot steps into the room again. The timbre of her voice changes as she launches into what sounds like the end of a very different conversation. "I had no idea that so much work went into caring for orphaned kittens. I know they're worth it, though. All of the cats are worth it."</p><p>"They are," Jay says, nodding at her. He reaches over and pulls the card close, catching sight of block capitals and a few numbers.</p><p>"Thanks again for letting me spend some time with you and your friends," Natalie says, smile bright, as she rises. "I really appreciate it."</p><p>"You're welcome," he says, and he thinks there's something genuine in her smile, something real in her eyes.</p><p>The two women leave the room through the door into the kitchen, making small talk as they go; Jay finds himself slumping bonelessly over the wall of plastic blocks in the aftermath of released tension and adrenaline comedown. "What have I done?" He whispers at the kittens. There's no answer, save for Knish stretching, yawning, and then sliding off of Basil to continue napping wedged between her and the wall.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Steve is sitting in the dining area of the condo that Tony had set up for them and looks like he's trying to eat, read some kind of report, and watch... Natasha isn't sure what, something pastel and animated. Despite the food, tablet, and packet of papers arranged before him, he's just looking out the window, his expression far away.</p><p>"Steve?" Natasha says, doing her best to make some noise as she moves so as not to startle him.</p><p>"Hm? Oh, hi, Nat." Steve blinks a couple of times as he focuses on her. "How are you?"</p><p>"I'm doing well. Just back from an undercover mission that was a resounding success," she says, smiling at him as she sits down in a nearby chair. "May I borrow your tablet for a moment?"</p><p>"Sure," he says, a moment of mild confusion crossing his face as he shrugs and pushes the tablet toward her. "I'm glad you got what you needed. Any new intel on that base you were looking into?"</p><p>"No, but I did get something better." Natasha taps the screen, then turns the tablet to face Steve. "A week ago, Jarvis flagged five seconds of footage, from which these screenshots were taken," she says, giving him a few moments to absorb the photo before flicking to the next one. "Stark and I decided that it was enough of a legitimate hit—"</p><p>"You found him," Steve says, leaning forward, a desperate sort of hope in his eyes. "You—You wouldn't be here if you, if Jarvis had misidentified—"</p><p>Natasha puts the tablet aside, then reaches out to take Steve's hands. "We did. And I talked to him, and he—"</p><p>"Where is he? How is he, is he—Does he need—" Steve grasps at her hands, doing his best to keep his touch light. "Please, Nat, I need to know—is he, did he..."</p><p>"He seems to be doing well enough, at the moment," Natasha says. "But I didn't have the time to dig in to his situation. James is stable enough that he's more or less employed, has developed working relationships with several people, and has made some new little friends."</p><p>"Good," Steve says, briefly squeezing her hands. "Good, that's—friends?"</p><p>"Don't be jealous, Steve," she says, smiling at him. "As soon as you meet them, you'll be smitten, too."</p><p>"Uh..."</p><p>"He said I could tell you where he is," she adds, which distracts him from trying to figure out what to ask next.</p><p>"Where is he? Can I see him? Is it—How far away is it? I'll borrow a quinjet—"</p><p>"It's only a couple of hours, and you <em>will</em> take a car or a bike," Natasha says, firmly, looking him in the eye. "And you're going to do this quietly, because neither James nor the place he's working need the kind of noise that would come with Captain America dropping out of the sky."</p><p>"No, I just—I... Right. You're right." He exhales, sits up a little straighter, taking his hands back so he can scrub them over his face. "And I don't want to go as Cap anyway. I just... I need to see him, to know for sure that he's..." Steve holds his hands out, palms up, then lets them drop.</p><p>"I know," she says, reaching for the tablet again. "Which leads me to the next part of this. How do you feel about cats?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Natasha says, "My name is Natalia Romanova. I am a spider. I lived in a red room." </p><p>Bucky says, "You--" and thinks about the Red Room. </p><p>Also, fun fact, because I am TERRIBLE at titles, the title is merely the Russian word for 'KITTENS!' transliterated from the Cyrillic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's been almost a week since Natalia's visit when the phone in the kitchen rings. Jay has just finished his morning chores, so he goes in and answers with, "Feral to Family Rescue."</p><p>"Hi, Jay, it's Marigot. Mavis and I just got done treating a couple of Jellybean cats—Archie and Tilly—and we need to put them up at the house for a few days. I'll be by with them in about an hour or so."</p><p>"Oh, okay. Will they need anything special?"</p><p>"No, Archie just needs some cleaning of his ears to make sure his ear mite infestation is gone, and we <em>finally</em> got Tilly spayed. No more babies for her, thank God!"</p><p>Jay can hear the smile in her voice, prompting his own mouth to curve a little. "Will they be okay with the kittens?"</p><p>"We'll put them in the quarantine room, since they'll only be there about a week. If you want to poke your head in and say hi, check on their food and water, that would be fine, but we'll be looking after them. They're friendlier than other Jellybeans, but still feral."</p><p>"All right." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Thank you for telling me."</p><p>"Of course. See you soon!"</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The kittens are about four weeks old, based on the chart in <em>KITTENS!</em>. They're actually walking, bellies off the floor; tiny new teeth are starting to peek through itchy gums; their sharp little claws are now hidden unless they're deliberately being used; they are clearly beginning to play with anything in reach—tails, feet, ears, actual toys.</p><p>Jay is watching Basil wrestle with a stuffed toy mouse only a third smaller than she is when he hears the front door open. He frowns as he discerns two sets of footfalls and Marigot's voice speaking to someone. The second voice belongs to a man, but it's not entirely familiar—it's not Carl's voice; he's only met a couple of the other male volunteers once—so he shifts himself into a posture that will allow him to retreat or defend as necessary.</p><p>There isn't much conversation as they go into the quarantine room, and what there is consists primarily of Marigot explaining and the man with her acknowledging her words. Jay allows himself to pay more attention to the kittens than the other people, aided by the fact that Pebble has come over to him and stretched up, one tiny foot reaching out to pat at his fingers.</p><p>He's murmuring to Pebble, petting and teasing at her, when the door down the hall opens and Marigot and her companion come to the door of his room.</p><p>"Good morning, Jay," she says cheerfully, "I'm sorry about the short notice, but we have a new volunteer who's going to be visiting Archie and Tilly this week, then stopping by to help socialize the cats out at the feeding site. Steve, this is Jay, our resident Kitten Wrangler. Jay, this is Steve."</p><p>Jay stares, eyes wide, as <em>Steve Rogers</em> fills the doorway. He's... He's dressed in civilian clothes—jeans and T-shirt and jacket and ballcap—but it's still very obviously Rogers.</p><p>Steve's friendly smile vanishes into surprise, his hands rising to grab at the doorframe on either side of himself. "Bu—Uh. Um. Hi. Nice to meet you."</p><p>"Hi," Jay manages. His palm is clammy, heart racing, mind blank. When he told Natalia that she could tell Rogers where he was, he hadn't expected the man to <em>show up</em>. He'd expected... A phone call, a letter, a freakin' <em>telegram</em>. Something that kept a nice safe distance between them, that let him get used to the idea of knowing and being known.</p><p>"Kitten Wrangler?"</p><p>"'S what Marigot calls me," Jay said, smiling a little at his hands before the expression fades. "I like kittens. They're a lotta work but they're... They're real good for, uh, the soul." Oh <em>God</em> that was dumb. Even dumber than his alias. Thanks, brain.</p><p>"Huh," is all Steve says to that. "Never spent much time with kittens before. Maybe you could introduce me."</p><p>Okay, wow, he is not the only one whose brain is bad at this conversation. Jay shrugs and allows his mouth to return the volley with more inanity. "Sure. If you're not too busy."</p><p>"This is all I have to do today," Steve says, "so I'll come see you when I'm done with the other cats. If that's okay?" He looks at Marigot for confirmation.</p><p>"Sure, that's just fine, if it's all right with Jay," she says.</p><p>"I'll see you then," Steve says, and then he's gone.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Steve licks his lips, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door jamb to the kitten room.</p><p>"Um," Bucky—<em>Jay—</em>says. "Hi."</p><p>Most of Steve's nerves fade as he realizes that Jay is far more tense than he himself is. "Hi. May I come in?" He wants... He wants so much, so badly, that he nearly has to hold onto the doorframe to keep from racing across the room and tackling the other man to the floor. Steve wants to <em>touch,</em> to feel the warmth of Bucky's skin and flex and slide of his muscles; he wants to hear Bucky's heartbeat and breathing and voice; he wants to see if he can get the scent of him as he is now: proof that Bucky is <em>real,</em> that he's <em>alive,</em> that he's <em>here.</em></p><p>"Okay," Jay says, after a few moments; he tilts his head toward the other side of the fence of blocks that are keeping the baby cats from getting into trouble in the wider world.</p><p>"Thanks," Steve says and makes his way over to sit down. The kittens immediately command his attention and he smiles down at a little grey-and-white one who is gumming at the leg of one of its siblings. "What are their names?" That was probably the safest place to start, for now.</p><p>"That's Pebble," Jay says, pointing at the grey-and-white kitten. "She's biting her brother Dolmades. Over there is their sister Basil, their sister Piroshki, and their other brother Knish. They're just now four weeks old."</p><p>Steve repeats the names as he learns them, leaning over to look at them all. "They're really cute."</p><p>"You can hold them," Jay says, the sentence almost abrupt. "If you want."</p><p>"Are you sure?" Steve discovers that he genuinely <em>does</em> want to hold at least one of the kittens, and not only because it gives him a reason to spend time with the other man. "They're awful small."</p><p>"You won't hurt them," Jay says, wiggling his fingers at Dolmades, who comes over to inspect them. He picks up the little cat, cradling him firmly enough to keep him from escaping as Jay leans over to offer Dolmades to Steve. "They have very sharp claws."</p><p>"Okay," says Steve, cupping his hands to receive the fuzzy little creature. He's not <em>very</em> worried about hurting the kitten, but his size and the relative fragility of, well, almost everything else in the world compared to himself... It wasn't something he'd managed to get used to, in the years since he'd changed.</p><p>"They're starting to get teeth, too. They taste everything." Jay watches Dolmades sniff at Steve's left thumb, tiny nose bumping into it as he misjudges the distance between himself and the human.</p><p>"He's so... soft," Steve says, gingerly stroking Dolmades' side with the tips of two fingers. "And I—oh, yeah. There's the teeth." He smiles at Jay, however, letting the kitten gnaw on the first joint of his thumb.</p><p>Jay sort of jolts at the smile, his gaze returning to the remaining kittens as he replies. "How can anything be so soft? I don't know."</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says. He tries settling Dolmades on his lap, but the kitten doesn't want to lie down—he wants to explore. Dolmades begins making his intrepid way up the front of Steve's shirt. "So, uh... I have some questions. If that's okay."</p><p>"I can't. Go back." Jay folds his hands together in his lap; his knuckles go white. "Not to, to... To fighting."</p><p>"I wasn't—That's not why I'm here," Steve says, his hands following the kitten's progress, ready to catch Dolmades if he slipped. "I just wanted to know—<em>want</em> to know—how you are. If you need anything. If you... If you mind me being here."</p><p>"I don't know," Jay murmurs, watching Basil—puffed up, back and tail arched—hop once toward Pebble. Pebble reacts by doing the same thing, except she gets distracted after she falls over and sends a ping-pong ball rattling along the wood; she decides chasing it is more important. "I... I don't know—I need to not be...found."</p><p>"Tony's working on that," Steve says, following Jay's gaze and smiling as Pebble manages to swat the ping-pong ball and then toddles after it. "And Nat—Natasha—she, um, she's putting together a care package for you. I'll bring it to you the day after tomorrow, when I come back."</p><p>"She's sending me something?" Jay frowns, letting his fingers trail over Basil as she comes over to see what he's doing.</p><p>"Yes. I'm not sure what she's going to include, but I know it's going to have some technology. And some clothes, too."</p><p>"I..." Jay shifts uncomfortably. "Why?"</p><p>"I think she just likes dressing people up," Steve says, then makes a funny face and looks down his body. "What are you doing?" He addresses the question to his own chest, where all that can be seen of Dolmades are his tail and one flailing back leg as the kitten attempts to tuck himself completely into the sleeve of Steve's jacket. "All right, then. As for the tech... She said that it's important to have secure lines of communication. And to communicate."</p><p>Jay considers the idea, glancing between Dolmades and Piroshki, who is bumping her head against his fingers as she plays with a blue pom-pom with strands of glittery tinsel sticking out of it. "She...wants me to communicate," he says, frowning. "With who?"</p><p>"Whoever you want, Bu-uh, Jay," Steve says, trying to ease Dolmades back out of his sleeve. "Nat, me, any new friends you might make."</p><p>"Huh," Jay says, the sound considering. He picks up Piroshki and cradles her against his chest; she immediately stretches up and pokes her tiny cold nose against his neck. "Was that all you really wanted to know?"</p><p>Steve holds Dolmades for just a few seconds before the cat is delving into his sleeve once more as he says, "No. Not really. I've been worried about you."</p><p>"Natalia said you were," Jay says. "Why?"</p><p>Steve thinks over the answers he'd unearthed in the multiple discussions he and Tony and Nat had had regarding that very question. "Because you're... You were in a bad way, when I fell and you... You jumped after me. And you'd been... Hydra had..." He has to stop, there, swallowing a couple of times before he can continue. "You saved my life, Buck, and at the very least I need to thank you for that. Before I can do that, in a way that's not just...saying it, I mean, before I can do that, I needed to know <em>how</em> to thank you. And you're... You're my friend, so..."</p><p>"I was your friend," Jay says, slowly, testing the idea out rather than rejecting the idea wholesale. "What do you mean, how to thank me?"</p><p>Steve shrugs. "Do you need money? Do you need any help, maybe a doctor or a—"</p><p>"<em>No.</em> No doctors. No, no, no—" Jay's on his feet and backing away before he quite realizes he's moving, Piroshki squeaking at the sudden lurch.</p><p>"Right, no, it was only—" Steve's up, one hand half-supporting, half-covering the kitten at his shoulder, the other stretched out toward Jay. "It was only a list of possible things I could help you with, not... Tony and Nat are the only people who know where I am, and no one knows you're here, I swear."</p><p>"Why? Why do you want to help me, what—" Jay shakes his head and curls himself around the little calico as protectively as he can. "This is..."</p><p>"It's the right thing to do," Steve says, gingerly unhooking tiny claws from both skin and shirt. He cradles Dolmades to his chest, ignoring the wee needle-teeth that prick at his fingers.</p><p>"I don't... I don't really remember you," Jay says, then spends a few moments looking sort of like he expects someone to pop out of the kitchen and shout at him. His voice is barely above a whisper when he adds, "But I think I want to."</p><p>"That's fine," Steve says, something lighting up inside him, big and bright and hot. "That's, okay, yes. And even if you don't, that's okay, too. We can, we can get to know each other anyway." It's all kind of jumbled, wanting to know and already knowing and all of it, but Steve thinks he's allowed a little confused happiness. It's 2014 and he's found Bucky—Bucky, who'd been <em>dead,</em> who'd been <em>hurt</em>, who'd been <em>gone—</em>and now he wasn't alone any more. That was bound to turn anyone's world upside down.</p><p>"All right," Jay says, slowly, letting himself relax a little. "But, but you have to know. You have to—I meant it. I <em>can't</em> go back. <em>Won't </em>fight. "</p><p>Steve shakes his head. "That's—I didn't, I'm not—You're out, you can stay out. A quiet retirement is the absolute fucking <em>least</em> the world can give you," he says, the words almost angry. He takes a deep breath and adds, "Whatever you want, whatever you <em>need</em>, that's what we'll do."</p><p>"Oh," Jay says, then abruptly steps forward and folds down to sit beside the kitten corral. Leaning over, he carefully sets Piroshki beside Basil. "I don't know. What I want. It's... My head is, it's not..."</p><p>"We'll take it slow," Steve says, kneeling beside the blocks himself and putting Dolmades back inside. "I'll come to see the cats and you, and you can tell me all about the kittens, and... And then we'll see. Okay?" As much as he wants to push, to grab and hold and never let go again, he knows that would be counterproductive.</p><p>"If..." Jay gives the ping-pong ball a soft push in the direction of Piroshki and Basil's wrestling match. "If... I have to leave."</p><p>"Then you can leave. I'd appreciate it if you let me know where you were going, or—Oh, here, let me give you my number, then if you have to go you can just text me and let me know how you're doing." Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket. "You can give me your number, too, and then..."</p><p>"Don't have a phone." Jay flicks his gaze from the cats to the phone in Steve's hands to Steve's face and back to the cats again. "Yet."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says, putting his phone back. "Okay, well, that's probably one of the things Nat's going to send you."</p><p>Somehow, despite the tension that's been building in his chest, Jay manages a little laugh at that. "Communication," he says.</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says, one corner of his mouth turning up. He has no idea what's funny, but he's glad it is. He watches Jay for a few moments, then looks in on the kittens again. They're wrestling, with occasional moments of racing back and forth with their tails pointing straight up. Time to change the subject, if the set of Jay's shoulders is anything to go by. "They're ridiculous, aren't they?" </p><p>"Yes. Very silly." Jay smiles as he says it; he's looking at Pebble, who is lying on her back and very determinedly gnawing on her own back foot. Then Knish steps on her ear and she has to bite him instead.</p><p>It feels like the right place to leave their conversation, so Steve gives him a real smile, nods, and brushes his palms over his pants. "I like silly. And, uh, I'll get out of your hair, now. It was great to see you, Jay."</p><p>"Okay," Jay says, watching Steve get up. There's a funny expression on his face, as if he's surprised at himself but also confused. "It was... It <em>was</em>. Good. Seeing you."</p><p>"I'm back on Friday," Steve says. "I'll see you then." And then he's walking out the door, making himself go find someone to tell them that he's leaving. And if he's making plans for looking into maybe finding a place to stay in the area? Well, that's his own business.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's some panicky reactions on Bucky's part in this chapter, along with mentions of therapy and some non-graphic references to Bucky's mistreatment at the hands of HYDRA. </p><p>Also, the kittens are introduced to the concept of the litterbox, but there's nothing graphic there, either.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday starts out uneventfully, for which Jay is grateful—he'd gotten even less sleep than usual after Steve's visit, his brain happy to latch on to the conversation and replay it in excruciating detail. Sure, it was far more pleasant than reliving his time with Hydra, but he really wanted to get some damned <em>sleep</em>. All of it means that once again, he's foggy and drifting when Marigot shows up for the usual afternoon visit and blindsides him.</p><p>"So these guys are just about a month old," Marigot says, smiling as she scoops up Knish. "That means it's time to start introducing them to food. We'll start with a gruel of wet food and formula so they'll have something familiar to tease them into eating it..." She flips Knish onto his back and tickles at his belly, cooing at him for a moment. "I guess it's time to open up the online adoption application page, too."</p><p>"Adoption application page?" Jay blinks a couple of times, switching gears from food to technology.</p><p>"Mm-hm. They'll hit a thousand grams in another month or so, and then we can take 'em to the vet and get them fixed. Then they can go to their new homes." Marigot turns Knish over and sets him down on his feet, then picks up Pebble.</p><p>"New homes," Jay says. It's not as if <em>KITTENS!</em> (or the <em>OP MANUAL</em>) hadn't mentioned adoption, or that he'd forgotten about it. It had just seemed... remote. Unlikely. Something that happened to <em>other</em> litters, not his.</p><p>"Yes," Marigot says, the word a little slow, her face sort of frowning at Jay without her mouth actually turning down. "You...  This is going to be your first adoption. Okay." She cuddles Pebble for a bit, then adds, "There's someone I think you should talk to. Anikó Solyom. She's worked with us for a few years now. She specializes in grief and trauma, and... I know I'm not really, I mean, it's kind of none of my business? But I think that you need to talk to her about more than just saying goodbye to kittens you've raised."</p><p>"But..." He looks down at the kittens, happily oblivious to their impending fate, a swell of panic rising as he considers it. "But the, they won't—strangers can't—"</p><p>"I know," she says, sympathetic and soft. "I know, I felt the same way, I get the same feeling every time. The thing is, if we keep them, we don't have room for the next litter that needs our help... Which means we're not living up to our calling of caring for as many as we can."</p><p><em>That</em> hits him right in the gut with a new wash of <em>mission failure!</em>, kicking his heart into double-time. "Oh. I..."</p><p>"I mean, you're only here to deal with kittens, not all of the other stuff, so it's not like most of the burden falls on you," Marigot says, putting Pebble down and picking up Basil for her turn at being cuddled. "I haven't spent nearly as much time with these guys as you have and I'm still going to call Anikó when they go."</p><p>"Oh," he says, again, the fear subsiding a little at the idea that he's not the only one involved, that <em>he</em> isn't the source of mission failure if the mission wasn't his to begin with. "Do you... Do you always..."</p><p>"Most of the time, yeah," she says, smiling down at Basil and rubbing her belly. "Look at your cute spotty tummy!" Looking up at Jay once more, she goes on. "It really helps. I'll show you the application page, so you can see how we start the screening process, and I'll tell you about some of the other criteria we use to make our choices. It really helps me to remember that we don't put 'em in a box and leave it on a corner with a sign that just says 'free' on it."</p><p>"Okay," Jay says, relief carrying away the last dregs of his upset. "Yes. I'd like to see it. Please."</p><p>"Sure. I have some time when we're done making sure everyone's had a snuggle, so we could do it today—if you're not busy?" Marigot smiles a little, like she's inviting him to be in on a joke.</p><p>Feeling surprisingly reassured, he manages to smile back. "I'll have to check. My calendar is really, um, full. Think I can squeeze you in, though."</p><p>"Have your people talk to my people," she says, and laughs.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>On Friday, Steve comes back to the kitten room as Jay is laying out the contents of his care package. "Hey," Steve says from the doorway.</p><p>"Hi," Jay says, making a kind of 'come in' gesture with his head. "I'm just looking at everything that Natalia sent."</p><p>"Yeah?" Steve says, crossing the room to stand beside Jay and his neatly-made bed. "I have no idea what she packed, so... Is it useful?"</p><p>"So far," Jay says, but he's frowning as he looks down into the box. "Um."</p><p>Steve looks up from the clothes, electronics, and documents stacked tidily on the log-cabin quilt. "Hm?"</p><p>"She... There's money. A lot of money." Jay removes several large, clear zip-top bags absolutely stuffed with cash. It's probably all in smaller denominations, and from what he can see it all looks like it's been in circulation for a while. Nothing marked, nothing sequential, or at least not intentionally sequential.</p><p>"That sounds like Natasha," Steve says, smiling for a moment before he tilts his head and points at one of the bags. "There's a note, there."</p><p>Jay leans over, finding the short note in curly Cyrillic letters. "Huh. Um... It says, 'don't worry, it's compensation from your former colleagues. We made sure they were <em>very</em> sorry about your time with them.' Former colleagues?"</p><p>"Mm." Steve tries very diligently to get his face—and feelings—under control before he responds. "I suspect she means the... The people who... Had two heads."</p><p>"Oh." Jay frowns in confusion. "They were sorry?"</p><p>"I think that's her way of saying that they died slow," Steve says, quietly, in case someone else was in the house. He didn't think there was—he hadn't heard anyone moving around except for Jay—but this was just between them.</p><p>"I see," Jay says. He contemplates the cash in silence for a bit, then takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I don't think I'm sorry to hear that."</p><p>"I... I can't say I am, either." Which was probably wrong, but on the other hand, they'd also been Nazis—or at the very least Nazi-adjacent—and had spent time <em>torturing Bucky.</em> Steve had a tough time summoning the desire for due process, never mind sympathy. "A little cash is the least of what's owed you, Bu-uh, Jay."</p><p>Jay makes a thoughtful sound, putting the money back into the box and then tucking the box under the edge of his bed. He'd need to go into town at some point and open an account somewhere, but for now, he'd think about other things. "You've done that several times," he says, glancing at Steve before he heads toward the kitten corral. "Said 'Buh', then called me Jay."</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says, following him across the room. "Yeah, I... I used to call you Bucky. But you were introduced to me as Jay, and I want—you haven't had the chance to, I mean, you can choose, now. What you want to be called. And I'll call you that, whatever you choose."</p><p><em>Bucky. </em>It's... It's familiar and strange all at once, leaving him with faint echoes that might have once been memories. The high-pitched voice of...a little girl? Maybe? And then a boy's voice, a man's voice, all of them saying <em>Bucky</em>. He can't fathom being called that, not right now, so he nods and says, "Just Jay. For now."</p><p>Steve kneels beside the wall, closer to the other man than he was on Wednesday but not close enough to crowd him. "Sure. Oh, they're learning to use a sandbox?"</p><p>Jay smiles as Knish goes trotting over to greet Steve, his own fingers getting a bump from Dolmades and Basil as they say their own hellos. "Yeah, they're old enough to start eating solid food. Or mostly solid food, we're mixing it with formula so they get used to it. Marigot said that they're..." He makes a soft sound, partially amused and partially disbelieving. "She said there's going to be some crying as they get used to using the box and that I shouldn't worry about it. She said there will be accidents, too, but I can deal with that. The crying... I don't know."</p><p>"Why do they cry? Does it hurt, or is it something else?" Steve frowns at the tiny litter pan and the little heaps of brown granules within. It looks like they've at least been trying it out.</p><p>"She said, and the book—there's a book here, all about kittens—says it, too, that they're not in pain. They're probably a little scared, because it's something happening to them that they can't see, not like getting picked up or having medicine. They also said that it doesn't take long for them to get used to it, just a day or two, and then they act like they've always gone to the box by themselves." Jay rubs chins and bellies and sides; gently strokes backs and tails and itsy-bitsy paws. "I just... Don't want them to be unhappy."</p><p>"That makes sense," Steve says, picking up Knish. "At least you'll know what's wrong."</p><p>"I guess so."</p><p>They spend the next hour or so playing with the kittens, talking to the little cats and to one another, occasionally lapsing into surprisingly comfortable silences. At last, however, Steve sighs and gets to his feet. "I need to go. I'll be back on Sunday, though."</p><p>Jay stands as well, nodding at Steve. "Okay." He wavers for a few seconds, then says, "Thank you. For coming. And the box."</p><p>"Thanks for letting me hang out with the kittens," Steve says, smiling. At the mention of the box, he pulls his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. "Let me give you my number so you can, uh, you can get in touch. Doesn't matter when, just... You know. Send me a text or something."</p><p>"Right," Jay says, remembering that Natalia had wanted him to communicate with others. He goes back to where the phone is nestled into padding beside the laptop she'd sent along. It takes a few minutes, but soon they both have their numbers saved into their respective phones. "Um. It was good to see you again."</p><p>"Yeah!" Steve clears his throat, trying to rein in his enthusiasm. "Yes. It was great to see you, too. See you on Sunday?"</p><p>"Sure," Jay says with a nod. "Sunday."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Later, Jay sends his second-ever text to Steve.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>Here is a picture of sleeping kittens.<br/>[img-20140515.jpg]</em>
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  <p><em>To: Jay (</em>🐝 🐈<em>)<br/>They are adorable! Thank you!</em></p>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>You are welcome.</em>
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</blockquote><p> </p><p>There's a handful of contacts in his address book already, pre-programmed numbers for services provided by the carrier. The only other person besides Steve is an entry that simply reads 🕷 🔪. Assuming it's Natalia's, he sends her the same picture of the kittens; her response is a string of hearts and heart-eyed icons.</p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>Glad to see you got my package. </em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>You're quite welcome. I demand ongoing<br/>payment for my thoughtfulness in kitten pictures. </em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>Excellent.<br/>Good night, Yasha. </em>
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  <p><em>To: </em>🕷 🔪<br/><em>Good night. </em></p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Saturday is business as usual, for the most part. Basil is the first kitten to successfully use the litter box after lunch, and as predicted, she meows piteously through the process. Jay reassures and then praises her, and when he lets her go again she's off to play with her siblings as if nothing had happened. (Steve is excited when he hears the news.)</p><p>Marigot comes in for an afternoon visit with both the Jellybeans in the quarantine room and the kittens. Once she's muted the cameras for privacy and settled on the floor with Knish, Pebble, and a short wand with some ribbons trailing from the end of it, she says, "I left Anikó's card on the fridge, so you can get in touch with her when you're ready."</p><p>"Anikó..." Jay remembers what Marigot had said, but he wants to hear it again.</p><p>"She's a therapist specializing in grief and trauma," Marigot says, watching Pebble pat at the ribbons. "She's not the only person that we talk to about that kind of thing, but she's been really helpful for me and a few of the others. It took me a couple of litters before I figured out that I needed to talk to someone about how I was feeling, because I was close to giving up on doing any rescue work."</p><p>"Even though you love it?" Jay, after checking to make sure the doors were closed, lifts away a couple of the big blocks to let Dolmades, Piroshki, and Basil out to play too.</p><p>"Yeah. And I know the hard parts are inevitable—we have to say goodbye, either because they get adopted or because it's their time to cross the bridge, or there's something wrong but we can't figure out what and it's hard to watch them scared and in pain or just not feeling good—but they're still <em>hard.</em> Adorable kittens are great, but that's not all there is to it." She shakes the ribbons, smiling as Piroshki pounces on them. "Oh! What a great pounce!"</p><p>Jay is quiet as he thinks, using his fingers to distract anyone who looks like they're planning on wandering. Eventually, he says, "You said you think I need to talk to her about more than the kittens."</p><p>Marigot glances at him. "I know... Look, I know it's not my place to give you instructions about anything except kittens, but... I've kind of put some pieces together, not that I can—or will—tell anyone about it. You've gone through some rough stuff, and as far as I know, you...don't have any contact with family or friends. So you need some support, and Anikó's a good place to start for that."</p><p>He's up on his feet and backing away from both woman and kittens as Marigot comes to the end of her statement. "You know—You—"</p><p>Her only response to his departure is raised eyebrows. "I said I put some pieces together. That mess in DC wasn't very far away from here, and it's all anybody's talked about since. I've been <em>trying</em> to avoid it—it's over, now, what can <em>I</em> do? But it's difficult when it's all over social media, TV, the radio, even the two podcasts I listen to have had ads for other podcasts about it! So I've heard, whether I wanted to or not, all about a certain possible fugitive. But it's ridiculous, right? Why would someone who's supposedly <em>so good</em> at disappearing and capable of committing the most high-profile crimes without leaving a trace stick around the area? And even if he <em>did,</em> he certainly wouldn't stick around for <em>kittens</em>. Fugitives are on the run, it's right there in the word—<em>fugit</em>. Can't take <em>kittens</em> with you when you're on the lam.</p><p>"Anyway." Marigot takes a deep breath and blows it out again, not exactly a sigh but with a definite edge of deflation. "So, yeah. The Cold Soldier or whatever they called him, not exactly the kind of guy you'd expect to find doing something like caring for baby cats. And even if you <em>were</em> him, my point still stands: you've been through some shit. Get some therapy. Anikó's got us on a group-rate discount, so you should be able to afford it."</p><p>The urge to correct her comes and goes; before he can say anything, Piroshki and Pebble come trotting over to him. Their stubby little tails stick straight up and they're not particularly graceful, but they are determined. They squeak at him, at one another, at his shoes; Jay folds himself down onto the floor to let them clamber into his lap. "How... How can you trust me?"</p><p>"They say you can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat people and animals, especially the most vulnerable. Besides, I think about the way you reacted to me when we first met on a pretty regular basis. It was pretty stupid of me to confront you alone, but... I <em>terrified</em> you. You were doing dishes, too. It's... I mean, who breaks into a house to <em>wash dishes?</em>" She shrugs and tickles Knish's belly with the ribbons as the kitten rolls around on the floor. "So I don't... I don't know, it just seems like you weren't—aren't—really a threat. Especially not to the kittens, which is weirdly more important to me."</p><p>"Oh," Jay says, stealing glances at her every few seconds. "You... You belonged here. You, you had every right to... To do whatever you wanted, with me."</p><p>Marigot squinted at him, pursing her lips. "I suppose," she says, slowly. "But the point is, you handed them over and they were all clean and chubby and warm. Clearly, you were focused on caring for them, and your behavior told me plenty about how trustworthy you are. Don't worry about it, okay?"</p><p>"I'll try," Jay says with a shake of his head.</p><p>"Good. That's a new shirt, isn't it?"</p><p>He lets her change the subject, glad to talk about something almost meaningless. When he mentions his new phone, Marigot brightens up; a minute later, he had four new numbers in his contacts, including the rescue's usual vet clinic. Eventually, the kittens fall asleep and Marigot says her goodbyes, leaving him to flop on his bed in exhaustion. He's almost asleep when his phone makes a soft <em>ding!</em> and vibrates briefly.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>To: Jay (</em>🐝 🐈<em>)<br/>Nat says I should send you this.<br/>She also didn't want me to tell you that<br/>she made it.<br/>[img-20140516.jpg]</em></p>
</blockquote><p>The attached picture was of a plate of dumplings—vareniki, probably—drizzled with a dark sauce and with a dish of something pale and creamy sitting beside it.</p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>They look delicious. Are they?<br/>I won't tell her if you won't.</em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>If he says I made them he's lying.<br/>I got them from a deli that's been open<br/>since about the time you were born.</em>
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  <p><em>To: </em>🕷 🔪<br/><em>If who said you made what? </em></p>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>You know exactly what I'm talking about.</em>
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  <p><em>To: Jay (</em>🐝 🐈<em>)<br/>They're amazing. Sweet and kind of sour<br/>at the same time.<br/></em></p>
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    <em>Do you like them? I can save you some.</em>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>That would be nice. Thank you.<br/><br/></em>
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  <p><em>To: Jay (</em>🐝 🐈<em>)<br/>You're welcome! I'll bring them tomorrow.</em></p>
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  <p><em>To: </em>🕷 🔪<br/><em>Steve said they are delicious. </em></p>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>He's also bringing you some.<br/><br/>It's nice to see him so happy. </em>
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  <p><em>To: </em>🕷 🔪<br/><em>I look forward to trying them.<br/>That is good.  </em></p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Marigot inadvertently triggers a non-graphic flashback/panic attack in Bucky when she tries to demonstrate how Feral to Family checks out the ferals they trap for any problems that need addressing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Tuesday, Jay's actually feeling pretty lucid when Marigot shows up earlier than usual. "Hello?" He says, when she calls out from the entryway.</p><p>"Oh, good, you're here. Mavis trapped a cat we've been after for about a month and I want to show you what we do when we get a cat in for treatment. Since we never know if we're going to have a straightforward spay-neuter-return situation or if they'll need a dental or what, we like to get an idea of what's happening with them before we take 'em in to see Dr Cho. And it's kitten season, too, so we might bring you a mama-to-be," she says, when she joins him in the kitten room. "I want to wait for Steve, so he can see it, too. He should be here pretty soon."</p><p>"All right," he says, rubbing his hands on his jeans. "Will I need to do anything?"</p><p>"Just watch, mostly. I might ask you to hand me something," Marigot. "Speaking of asking... I've been wondering about the bed." She gestures at the piece of furniture in question.</p><p>He glances at his bed, then looks determinedly at the kittens (who are, as usual for this time of day, asleep in a pile). "I couldn't sleep. Upstairs. I knew the sounds of the house, but... I couldn't hear the kittens. And that was..." The paranoia over not knowing if something was suddenly wrong with his charges was at least a change from paranoia caused by seeing the same vehicle pass by several times in a day, but neither version was in any way <em>good</em> for his attempts to get some sleep. "I can move back."</p><p>"No, no, that's—No, I get it. My first C-section litter, I kind of went overboard and drank two pots of coffee so I could stay up all night and make sure everyone was still breathing," she says, nodding a couple of times. "Trying to get back to a normal sleep routine after that was fun. No, it's fine, I was just curious. If you want to bring the dresser out of that same room down so you have a place to put your stuff, that'd be fine."</p><p>"Thank you," Jay says. He's been using the box Natalia had sent as a combination end table and closet, which is not really a long-term solution for his needs. Getting up, he nods once and says, "Excuse me."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>A few minutes later, Jay maneuvers the dresser through the doorway without much trouble, then picks it up as if it were no more than a four-week-old kitten. He sets it down against the wall at the foot of his bed, then frowns and turns it so that it sits parallel to the short end of the bed. "There."</p><p>"Uh... Okay, wow," Marigot says, a disbelieving little smile on her face. "Next time I need something moved, I'm asking you to help."</p><p>"Okay," Jay says, shyly pleased by the idea. The sound of someone pulling into the parking area catches his attention and he adds, without thinking about it, "I think Steve's here."</p><p>"Is he? All right. Time to get to work."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"I usually do a live stream of intakes," Marigot says as she taps at her phone. She sticks it into a very short tripod, then sets it on the floor so that it's pointing at the towel-draped cage; looking around, she seems to take stock of everything she's laid out on the floor beside a cushion and nods to herself. In a tone that's more suited to making announcements or giving a lecture, she continues with, "Hey, everyone, I've got a new cat from Jellybean in today. I'm also demonstrating our intake procedures for a couple of new volunteers—Jay and Steve—so I'm going to be explaining pretty much everything. If you have questions, guys, don't hesitate to ask."</p><p>Jay and Steve watch Marigot sit down on the cushion, one leg folded and the other stretched out alongside the cage.</p><p>"Okay," Steve says; he glances at Jay.</p><p>Jay remains silent, but he's watching the cage with intent.</p><p>"All right. We generally don't use gloves to handle ferals, here, because gloves do make it harder to hold onto the cats as well as making it more difficult to do things like palpate abdomens and that kind of thing. To help keep them calm and both people and cats safe, we keep their faces covered. The first thing to do is make sure we have everything we need <em>before</em> we get the cat out of whatever they're in—it's not impossible to go get something you forgot if you're by yourself, but it's definitely less stressful all the way around," Marigot says, picking up her phone and sweeping it slowly over the things she'd laid out.</p><p>"There's a towel, and the scale under it—we have to weigh the towels first, so we know exactly how much the cat weighs—a stethoscope, swabs and gauze and some saline, a bottle of Oti-Drops for helping to break up ear mite crust, our standard vaccine and ParaBane, which is good for fleas, ticks, ear mites, and roundworms, my intake form and a pen so I can write down all the information, my trusty head lamp, a pair of scissors, a toothbrush if there's ringworm, and a little kibble and a little canned food."</p><p>"Why the food?" Steve asks, though he suspects he knows the answer.</p><p>"It's kind of a bribe and a reward, and kind of to help them see that humans aren't all bad," Marigot says—</p><p>Jay turns on his heel and leaves the room, the words and concepts making him feel, feel—he's not, he's not a <em>thing</em> he's human, he's <em>a person—</em>he knows she wasn't trying to make a joke out of him, that she didn't even <em>know</em> but it's hard to remember because somehow there's smirking officials and jeering captors and his head is too full—</p><p>"Bu-Buddy," Steve calls, following Jay down the hall toward the kitchen, "uh, Jay—" <em>Jay,</em> he has to remember that the man in front of him is <em>Jay</em> and not Bucky. As he'd told Jay, Steve was determined to honor whatever requests might be made of him. Calling him Jay was nothing, a drop in the bucket. Steve inhales to ask if Jay is okay, then decides on a query with a less-obvious answer. "Is there anything I can do to help?"</p><p>"I'm a person," Jay says, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes. "'M a <em>person,</em> notta <em>thing,</em> and the cats, cats, they're just scared and it's <em>good</em> if they think people are good, if they associate food with people, people being <em>nice—</em>"</p><p>"Oh," Steve says, heart sinking as he realizes why Jay had left the room. "Yeah, you're a person, Jay. You, you're... The cats aren't things, either," he says, gamely trying to blunder his way into something that will help.</p><p>"She's gonna, she's gonna wrap 'em up in a towel—" Memories, fragmented as they are, of being restrained for impersonal treatment flicker through his mind; Jay presses his back to the wall and curls his hands into fists.</p><p>"She's not going to hurt the cat," Steve says, as gently as he can. He aches to just reach out and pull Jay into his arms, to wrap him up in an embrace in hopes of leaching the fear and pain and horror from a man who didn't deserve any of it. Keeping his hands to himself, however, he adds, "Do you want to wait out here? I can tell you about it afterwards."</p><p>"I..." <em>Pull it together, Barnes!</em>—asset's brain's too fuckin' fried, you gotta tell it what to do all the damn time—<em>compliance will gain you rewards—</em>He's not the asset, he's <em>not</em>, he's a person—</p><p>Steve gives in as Jay's shoulders heave, putting his left hand on Jay's right shoulder. "Hey, hey. Can you take a deep breath for me?"</p><p>"Don't—" The reaction comes automatically, right arm rising up to knock the assailant's hand from his body, reach down and grab wrist lifting and twisting as it comes back up fingertips digging in—</p><p>"Ah, ow, you're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched you," Steve says, giving his captured wrist a sharp twist to free it from Jay's grasp. He holds his hands up, palms out, in the generally-accepted gesture for 'I'm unarmed and peaceful'.</p><p>"I'm not—" Jay shakes his head, trying to shuffle reality and memory into their proper positions. "I... I can't," he says, the words barely a whisper, "I can't, it's not... It's not the same but it's the same and I, I, I—"</p><p>"That's—You don't have to," Steve says, firm; he may be flying blind once more but at least he's pretty sure it's in the right direction. "I'll watch, make sure that everything is on the level, and report back to you. If anything's not right, I'll make it right."</p><p>Jay rubs his face with both hands, leaving them over his eyes for a few seconds before he forces himself to squint at the other man. "Should," he manages, calling on all of his training to keep himself from running out the front door and never looking back. "I gotta know..."</p><p>"Not today," Steve says with a shake of his head. "Or at least not now. She's recording it. You can watch it later."</p><p>Exhaustion is sucking at Jay, making his already chaotic thoughts even less helpful. "But if she's busy... 'S gonna be my 'sponsibility," he says, then opens his mouth in a massive yawn.</p><p>Steve wonders where Bucky—<em>Jay—</em>got that idea, but doesn't ask. Instead, he says, "Stand down, Sergeant. Get some rest." He winces as it comes out in a far more commanding tone than he'd meant to use and he braces himself for the fallout.</p><p>It's almost a relief to have a straightforward order to follow, even if there's something at the back of his mind that is quietly screaming about <em>never following anyone else's orders ever again</em>. The voice and the tone of the words are familiar, sinking past the post-panic crash and settling warm in his chest. Jay <em>knows</em> the voice, knows that if he's being ordered to rest (<em>no why would you obey you don't have to do that any more</em>) by <em>that</em> voice that it's safe, he can just lie down and sleep. He yawns again and waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, Stevie, 'm goin'."</p><p>"Good," Steve says, then bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying... He doesn't even know what he'd say, and that's the worrying part. <em>Stevie,</em> like nothing had changed, like the intervening years hadn't happened. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, putting every mixed-up feeling aside for the moment, then heads back to the front parlor. Time to make sure that his assumptions about Marigot's treatment of cats were correct.</p><p>When he gets back to the intake room, Marigot is sitting where they'd left her, the cat a towel-covered bundle in her lap. Her hands rest on the terrycloth surface, looking more like comfort than restraint.</p><p>"Everything okay?" She says, when he's closed the door.</p><p>"Yes and no. Later?" Steve says. "After the cat's taken care of."</p><p>"Of course. Hang on." Marigot leans over and taps the screen of her phone. "Sorry about that, minor technical hiccup. Okay, so one of the most important things about handling ferals this way is muzzle awareness. That's for two reasons, the most obvious being, of course, that we don't want to get bitten. The other is that if their nose gets out from under the towel, they'll take it as a chance to get away and <em>then</em> we have to try and grab them again, which is just more stress than we want. This kitty's face is here," she points to the end of the towel-lump nearest her left knee, "which means that I'm going to gently slip my hand in here and see if I can figure out—our volunteers <em>think</em> they're Uncle Louie, a male—Ah, yep, he's got some manly bits there.</p><p>"And this is how most ferals—not <em>all</em> of them, but most—react when they're covered up, they go still and wait for the chance to escape. The rest struggle, but as long as you know where their head is, it's not too difficult to handle them."</p><p>Steve watches, asking the occasional question, as Marigot checks Uncle Louie over: ears, teeth, heart and lungs, body condition, feet—from the glimpses they get, it looks like he's a short-haired brown tabby. She cleans his ears, applies ParaBane, then pronounces herself satisfied that all he really needs is to be neutered and then returned to his friends and family in the colony.</p><p>"Okay. I'm gonna wrap this up, now, and take him over to Caboose house where we have a couple of rooms just for the TNR cats that don't need more extensive treatment. He'll go see Dr Cho in a few days... Friday? I think his appointment's on Friday. Thanks for watching." Marigot puts the cat back into the cage, stops the livestream, then sighs. "Is Jay all right?"</p><p>"He's..." Steve isn't sure <em>what</em> he should say, let alone how or how much.</p><p>Marigot purses her lips as she starts putting clean things back into the carry-all they'd come out of. "I already told him this, but I'll tell you, too. I don't know everything about him, but I've got some theories. One of them is that he's... I'm guessing he was a prisoner of war, for one thing. And a lot of bad things happened to him, for another."</p><p>Steve lets go a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as she speaks, then drags in a good deep breath. "Yeah. That's... That's a real simple way of putting it. The, uh, he had some trouble with the idea of restraining the cat. Since neither of us knew what that really meant..."</p><p>"Oh... Dammit, I should have thought about—"</p><p>"No, you couldn't have—"</p><p>"I already told him I knew he'd been through some shit and he should get therapy," Marigot says, her expression a blend of wry and embarrassed. "I could have taken a minute to explain what he was gonna see."</p><p>"It's... It's not that it's fine, it's... I understand. And so does Jay," Steve says. "Or he will. And watching you with the cat, with Uncle Louie, I could tell that you only held onto him enough that he didn't escape and the towel didn't fall off. You spent more time tucking the towel in than you did actually restraining him. Which is what I'm going to tell Jay, later."</p><p>"Okay. Okay, I get it." Now her expression is mostly wry. "I still feel bad about ambushing him, though. And if you want to show him, the intake will be up on our Facebook page. I'll put it up on YouTube later, too, like I do with all of our intakes. Is he in with the kittens?"</p><p> "There are more that we can watch?" Steve files away the mentions of Facebook and YouTube for later—he'd seen the links on Feral To Family's site but hadn't followed them—then adds, "Yeah. I suggested he go lie down, so I'm hoping he's napping."</p><p>"Yeah, we have a couple dozen at least on YouTube. If you go and search our videos for the name Belladonna, she was a tough one. We think she'd been hit by a car about a week before we caught her—thank God she was one who freezes up instead of fighting. Anyway, she's a great example of how our way of handling ferals works." She nods at the news of Jay's whereabouts. "That's probably one of the best things for him, right now. Okay. I'm gonna put this guy in my car and then clean this up—"</p><p>"I can do it," Steve says, then winces a little. "I mean, if you'd like, I'd be happy to."</p><p>"Thank you," Marigot says, smiling at him. "That would be awesome, if you wouldn't mind. That way I can get Uncle Louie out of the transfer cage sooner than later."</p><p>"Absolutely. Everything's labeled, so it should be pretty straightforward even for me." Steve returns her smile, then begins gathering up the obvious trash.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Jay feels...better, he supposes, when he wakes up. The kittens are up, making soft thumping sounds and squeaks that range from soft to sharp. He frowns at a particularly loud and pointed squeak, bordering on a yelp, and rolls off his bed to see what's going on.</p><p>Piroshki and Knish are wrestling, trading bites to each other's faces and legs. Knish nips Piroshki and she squawks; Knish lets go of the side of her face and she immediately retaliates by biting his front paw. To be somewhat fair, Knish <em>had</em> been pressing his foot against her nose.</p><p>Looking around, he notes that Pebble is digging around in the litter box while Dolmades watches and Basil is ignoring everyone in favor of batting at the big toy mouse a few times before licking it. Deciding they'd be all right for a few minutes, Jay stretches and gets up, then heads for the kitchen.</p><p>"Hi," Steve says, when Jay comes in. "How are you?"</p><p>"Uh, hi. Mm..." He considers the answer with a shrug. "Could be worse. Was... Did... What happened?"</p><p>Steve watches Jay shrinking up, pulling his shoulders in and keeping his eyes on the floor, and curses Hydra once more. What he actually says is, "Marigot was worried about you. I think she might have sent you a couple of texts about it. The intake went just fine, the cat—Uncle Louie—is in good shape and is going to get neutered on Friday. He'll be back at the colony by next Tuesday."</p><p>Jay nods, slowly, as Steve speaks. "Tell me about it? The, the intake. What did she do, how'd she do it." He blinks. "Please."</p><p>"Yeah, of course," Steve says, pulling his phone from his pocket. "So, the first thing she did was to figure out if Uncle Louie was male or female..."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Later, after Steve has left, Jay opens up his laptop and goes to Anikó's site. Like the card Marigot had stuck to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of Jupiter, the site is clean and spare, with the words <em>Recovery isn't a straight line </em>above a picture of an antique nautical chart of some kind and <em>Let me help you read your map</em> beneath. He clicks on the tabs in turn—Services, About, Contact—half wasting time and half to see what it says. Once he's exhausted the possibilities of the site, he picks up his phone and dials the number. He leaves a message with the after-hours answering service and hangs up before he can change his mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Hi, may I please speak to Jay Barr?"</p><p>"That's me," Jay says, moving away from the kittens who were teaching one another not to bite so hard—the main source of their squeaking—to sit on his bed.</p><p>"Excellent. I'm Anikó Solyom and I'm returning your call for a preliminary consultation. You said Marigot Chatt recommended me to you?"</p><p>"Yes ma'am," he says, getting up again and going across the hall to the library; he closes the door behind himself. "She, I—I'm working with Feral To Family. With kittens. And she said—they're going on five weeks old, they're going to be—And they, they're so small, and—" His breath hitches as he loses track of what he's saying.</p><p>"Ah. Okay, sounds like this is causing you some anxiety. Let's try breathing together, okay? Inhale from your belly, through your nose, deep and as slow as you can, ready? And inhale..."</p><p>He drops onto the couch and does his best to follow her instructions, pulling air in until he's wavering on the edge of exhaling again.</p><p>"Good, and exhale through your mouth, again, as slowly as possible."</p><p>The first part of his breath rushes out of him, but he clamps down and finishes with a long steady exhale.</p><p>"Good, let's do that twice more," Anikó says, "ready? And inhale..."</p><p>Jay follows her instructions, feeling a little less frayed by the time he's back to breathing normally.</p><p>"Great work, you did really well. Are you ready to try again?"</p><p>"I think so," he says, turning to look out the window at the trees.</p><p>"Okay. It sounds like you're calling because you're facing an upcoming adoption of at least one litter, is that right?"</p><p>"Yes ma'am. It's just one litter, for now. I've, uh, this is the first time I've ever done...this. Rescue work. With cats."</p><p>"I see. You also mentioned that you're a veteran in your message. Is that something you'd like to address as well?"</p><p>"I think so. I... I have a hard time sleeping, and nightmares, and I get...paranoid. Sometimes.  Not always."</p><p>"That's not uncommon, especially for anyone who has seen combat in their time in service."</p><p>"I definitely did," he says, half-rueful and half-amused.</p><p>"I see. Are those the biggest issues in your life at the moment? We can discuss anything that's going on, and if we come across something I can't help you with, I know some great people who might be a better match for those things. Before we go any farther today, I want to tell you a couple of things, the first being that everything you say to me will be kept in the strictest confidance. The only circumstances that would lead to me breaching that confidence is if you present a clear and immediate danger to yourself or others—"</p><p>"No! No, I don't—That's not—I'm not, not going to hurt anyone, I don't <em>want</em> to hurt anyone—"</p><p>"Right," she says, as if it was a foregone conclusion. "I just want you to know that you can say whatever you need to, phrase it however you need to, and it won't go beyond my brain or my own encrypted notes. All of which are made on paper, which is absolutely computer-hacker-proof."</p><p>An involuntary smile tugs at his mouth for a few seconds at that. "Okay. Um. Thank you."</p><p>"You're welcome. And I don't mean it to sound like a threat, the part about breaking confidence with you—it's not, and I've never done it lightly."</p><p>"You've talked about, about—"</p><p>"Twice, both times because my clients made statements that when taken in the context of what was happening in their lives gave me reason to think that if I didn't say something, they'd come to harm. It wasn't my first choice, but I was also not equipped to help them the way they needed to be helped at that time."</p><p>Jay thinks about that for a few moments, then says, "So...there was a, a happy ending?"</p><p>"Well, there was a relatively positive outcome," Anikó says. "And that brings me to the other thing I need to tell you. Dealing with grief, trauma, anxiety, depression, and other challenges takes work. Constant, on-going work. Some days it's easy work, some days it's so daunting that it seems like it'll be fatal to even try. I'm here to help you find strategies to make it easier, to push you, and to remind you that even if you feel like you're back at square one, you're not actually that far back."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"I bet you feel kind of overwhelmed right now, don't you?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"That's perfectly normal, and it's okay. The best part is, if you decide to keep working with me? You're not going to be alone, and while the known edges of your map may not be very big yet, you won't have to forge out into the wilderness in nothing but a pair of underpants while holding a spoon. You don't have to do it by yourself."</p><p>The image that comes to mind startles laughter out of him and he shakes his head. "Why a spoon?"</p><p>"Because it's an unusual—and if it's a standard spoon like you'd find in your kitchen, not terribly effective—choice of potential weapon." Her smile is audible down the line. "The point is that you tell me what's going on and where you'd like to go, and I'll do my best to get you there. Okay?"</p><p>"Okay," he says, smiling a little himself and very carefully <em>not</em> thinking about all the ways he could use a standard spoon to harm someone.</p><p>"All right. And now that we've talked about you, let's talk about me. Do you have any questions or concerns about me?"</p><p>"Um." Jay knew Anikó wasn't Hydra, thanks to Natalia's background check; as a result, he didn't actually know what to ask. "I...don't think so. Not now."</p><p>"That's fine. If you think of anything, you can always call back and we can chat. Is the number you left with your message a good one to use to contact you?"</p><p>"Yes, it's mine."</p><p>"Good. I think this is where we'll leave things for today. I'll need a few days to pull together the resources that I think will be helpful for you, if you decide to continue with me. You absolutely have the right to decline, or to change your mind—I won't be offended. All I ask is that you please let me know what you've chosen at some point in the next seven days so that I can make any scheduling adjustments that might be needed."</p><p>"Really? Oh. I, um, okay. That's... Yes. I can do that. I will do that. Thank you."</p><p>"Of course. And I'm going to give you an assignment before I say goodbye. It's pretty straightforward, you're not going to be judged or graded, and you don't even have to report to me. The assignment is to, once we've hung up, drink some water. Later, do something nice for yourself—something small or simple, like taking a hot bath, reading a few chapters of a favorite story, or watch a favorite scene from a movie or TV show. Sound doable?"</p><p>"I can do that, yes," he says, feeling a little off-balance again. The consultation had been far less difficult than he'd been expecting and ending like this... It was almost easy to see himself calling back and talking about nearly everything that kept him up nights. "Thank you."</p><p>"You're quite welcome. Thank you for calling, and no matter what you decide in the future? This was a brave thing to do. Take care, Jay."</p><p>"Oh. Um, thank you. Yes, you too."</p><p>And then the call is over and he throws himself sideways to lie on the couch cushions, mind racing. He's proud of himself, which seems a little weird; he's also somewhat apprehensive about what the future might bring. After a minute or so of trying to decide whether he wants to keep talking to Anikó—he changes his mind every few moments—he throws his metaphorical hands in the air and gets up instead.</p><p>Jay takes his glass of water into the kitten room, where he discovers that learning bite inhibition has tired everyone out. The kittens are in their bed, each curled into a ball and pressed together like rolls on a tray. He's abruptly tired, too, a massive yawn catching him by surprise; he crosses the distance to his bed, setting the glass on his dresser as he goes. It's the work of a moment to set his alarm for a couple of hours and then he's closing his eyes, drifting off.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this chapter: Tony shows up and starts talking. The kittens discover that People Food makes their tummies hurt (and there are more (non-graphic) mentions of poop. Bucky talks to his therapist and starts the work of recovery.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning follows the pattern of the last two days: everything is normal until something turns it upside down. <em>This</em> morning it's the arrival of a text from Steve:</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Jay (🐝 🐈)<br/>Got called in for a mission to France.<br/>Possible 2-headed base.<br/>Called Marigot already.<br/>Miss the kittens and you already.</em>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>Too bad.<br/>I see. You only like me for the cats.<br/>😊<br/><br/></em>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>Good luck.</em>
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</blockquote><p>And one from Natalia:</p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>I'm sorry for the short notice, but your visitor only told me<br/>his destination ten minutes after he left.<br/><br/>He is loud and abrasive but not dangerous. I don't know exactly<br/>what he's going to do while he's there but he intends to help. </em>
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    <em>To: 🕷 🔪<br/>Visitor? Who? When? </em>
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    <em>To: 🕷 🔪<br/>WHY?</em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>Yes, his name is Anthony, probably within the next 15 </em>
    <em>minutes,<br/>and he said something about upgrading your IT setup.<br/><br/>I suspect he wants to check out your situation, to see whether<br/>you're good for our mutual friend (despite the fact that *I* checked <br/>on you already).</em>
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    <em>To: 🕷 🔪<br/>That is a lot.<br/><br/>I do not know if this will be all right.</em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>I know. <br/><br/>I think you will be all right. He talks a LOT <br/>but he isn't bad. He does like to poke, though. </em>
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</p><p> </p><p>Jay has no idea what to expect when the truck pulls up to the house. It looks like any other pickup in the area, red and shiny and bigger than necessary. The man that gets out is shorter than himself, wearing jeans and a T-shirt; he goes around to the other side and retrieves a toolbelt and a couple of tool bags before he comes up the steps. Jay answers the ratta-tat-tat of the knock a split second after the last sound, catching the visitor off-guard.</p><p>"Hello?" Jay says.</p><p>"Hello!" The guy grins at him, slightly manic. "Hi. I'm Tony. Here to upgrade your IT sitch."</p><p>The mustache and the shape of the guy's face is weirdly familiar, a niggle at the back of Jay's head that he tries to ignore. "I...don't think we called anyone for that?"</p><p>"Oh, come on, Buckaroo! You have to know me, I'm sure Steve's told you all about me."</p><p>"'Buckaroo?'" He blinks a couple of times.</p><p>"Buckster, Buck-O, Big Deer Dude," Tony says, cocking his head and looking kind of confused by the mild reaction he's getting.</p><p>"My name is Jay?" Although he could see how everything out of the other man's mouth <em>could</em> be derived from the nickname of 'Bucky'. It's odd enough to think of Steve calling him <em>Bucky,</em> but the weirdness of seeing this man combined with the nickname was too much.</p><p>"Buckminster?" Tony tries, before giving up with a sigh. "Fine, Jay it is, but don't think that I'm <em>not</em> deeply disappointed about not getting to call you Buckaroo. So point me at your terrible telco-wired connection gear, Jay-bird, so I can get things fixed up."</p><p>"I... Look, I'm sorry, I just...don't know who you are."</p><p>"Seriously, Steve doesn't talk about me?" He looks affronted by the thought.</p><p>"You said your name is Tony," Jay says, going over his conversations with Steve. "He's mentioned a Tony, a few times, but he never said you were a repairman."</p><p>Tony scoffs. "Repairman. <em>Repair</em>man. Like I'm just a one-trick pony." He shakes his head and smirks at Jay. "Tony Stark, here to fix your connections and your cams, but not your cats."</p><p>"They're not broken," Jay says, mostly meaning the cats but including the media setup in the house. He knew they had some issues with at least one of the cameras, but unplugging it and plugging it back in was the usual solution to whatever was wrong with it. It takes a few moments for Tony's surname to sink in, stirring up cloudy associations as it goes. "Stark... There was, I think I knew... No, maybe I didn't." He mutters the words to himself, finally stepping aside to let Tony in.</p><p>"You did, actually. My dad. Howard. Kind of an asshole, but brilliant, you know? Always thinking about the next greatest thing. Then the war happened, and he was part of the whole thing that made Cap into Cap, and then the train and Hydra and that whole you killing him thing—I'm not mad at you about it, not now I mean, because <em>I</em> thought <em>I</em> was tortured, Ten Rings are rank <em>amatures</em>, seriously, I can't blame you for surviving however you could because I have seen some <em>files—</em>" Tony stops just inside the entryway, progress blocked once more by Jay.</p><p>Jay is staring. He knows he's staring, because his eyes feel sort of dry and he's vaguely aware of the fact that he hasn't blinked for a few seconds longer than he usually does. The words wash over him, but the few that stick are <em>Cap</em> and <em>killing him</em> and <em>files</em>. "What," he grates out, at last.</p><p>"Just wanted to tell you I get it. That I'm pissed my parents are dead, but between what Cap's told me—"</p><p>"Cap?"</p><p>"Captain America? Star-Spangled Dude?"</p><p>"Steve?"</p><p>"If you wanna be <em>boring,</em> sure, Steve."</p><p>"He told you. About, about..."</p><p>"He mentioned you'd been a prisoner, that your mind wasn't your own. So I did some digging, and like I said, I thought I had it bad in Afghanistan." He shrugs, like admitting he'd been tortured was on par with admitting he liked trashy TV or a controversial comedian. "Like I said, I'm angry, but not at you. I don't know you—I know who you were, but neither of us are who we were before the Ten Rings or Hydra. So I figured I'd come help you out and maybe find out what kind of guy you are, besides one that likes kittens and apparently charms tiny women into letting you live in their house rent-free."</p><p>Jay thinks briefly about sending Natalia a text chiding her for misrepresenting just <em>how much</em> Tony talked. He has no idea how to begin arguing with Tony about...any of it, so he takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and decides to put most of what he'd said aside for later. "I see. Um. How are you going to fix things?"</p><p>Tony's face lights up at the question. "I am <em>so</em> glad you asked, J-Man! First things first, I'm gonna check out the wiring..."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>By the end of the day, Jay is exhausted. He isn't sure if he's ever been this tired, though he suspects he might have. The other option is that he's overexaggerating in his own head, which seems like a strange thing to do. Either way, Tony is gone (with a promise to be back in two days with the rest of the equipment needed to finish the upgrade) and Jay is nearly asleep on his feet. He orders dinner to be delivered and goes to lean against the front door so if he <em>does</em> doze off, the arrival of his food will wake him up.</p><p>Dinner is eaten sitting on the floor of the kitten room, his back against his dresser; the overhead lights are already switched off and the small night lamp makes the area feel cozy, almost magical. Once his stomach is full, he doesn't bother with cleanup of any kind, just crawls under his blankets and plunges gratefully into the arms of sleep.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The kittens have learned to escape their current nest. Jay discovers this because he is awakened by the sensation of cold damp feet that smell strongly of garlic patting at his face, followed by the decidedly bizarre feeling of a tiny creature <em>gnawing on his nose</em>. As soon as he's awake enough to register what's going on, he realizes that there's at least two more kittens on the bed with him while the other two are playing with something on the floor. "What are you doing?"</p><p>He sits up as he speaks, feeling around himself so as not to accidentally squish anyone. (Not that it was easy to squish them—they tended to move out of the way, and if they didn't, they made their presence known quickly and <em>loudly</em>.) Pebble had been the one exploring his face, while Piroshki and Basil are romping on his other side. Knish and Dolmades are on the floor, chasing one another through the remains of what had been shrimp scampi. Jay recalls that there had been a couple of shrimp left in the carton when he'd set it aside; there appeared to about a third of one of the shrimp lying beside a heap of either pasta primavera or fettucini.</p><p>Pebble clambers up onto his thighs, then half-slides down his shins to join her siblings. She gets distracted by the pasta, however, batting at it until a strand comes loose and she can grab it in her teeth, at which point she runs off with it.</p><p>Jay can't do anything except laugh. It's a small, rusty sound at first, building up and up until it finally bursts out of him. When he's recovered enough that he thinks he can keep his phone steady, he opens the camera app and starts filming.</p><p>Dolmades, his fur sticking out in odd directions where it isn't stuck down with some sort of sauce, has part of Pebble's noodle wrapped around his body while he tussles with Pebble. Knish is trying to wash his tail, but keeps getting distracted by the plastic fork beside him; every few licks, he pats at the tines and jumps a little when the handle moves.</p><p>Basil and Piroshki crouch at the edge of the bed, watching the silliness below. Before he can ferry them to the floor, Basil puts her front feet over the side, sliding them down and down until gravity takes over and she half-jumps, half-falls to the floor. She lands on a corner of a blanket, rolls, then hops to her feet and charges toward Knish.</p><p>Piroshki thinks about following Basil, but can't seem to summon the courage for it. She ends up walking back and forth and meowing at her siblings, most of whom are ignoring her. Jay takes pity on her, setting her on his knees so that she can get down by herself. Once she's on the floor, she goes over to the abandoned bit of shrimp and starts chasing it across the boards.</p><p>Jay lets them frolic for another few minutes before he puts his phone down and starts the task of rounding up his charges. He gets as far as picking up Dolmades and Basil before he realizes that he doesn't have anywhere to put them, outside of their nest. Resigning himself to having to clean everything anyway, he lowers them into their enclosure before he turns to grab another pair of hooligans.</p><p>When he turns around with Piroshki and Knish, Basil is halfway over the wall. Dolmades is trying to bite her tail, to which she objects, and falls back in on top of him so she can bite his face in retaliation. Jay sighs and puts his cargo down, then goes to get Pebble. Pebble is covered in cream sauce and carrying a shrimp tail, which makes him laugh again; he gets the tail away from her and puts her in with her siblings.</p><p>It takes longer to add height to the wall than Jay is expecting, thanks to the kittens—they keep trying to go over the wall as he works. Periodically, one or two will make it and then he has to retrieve them. Once they've been contained, he picks up the debris from his dinner (along with the messes the kittens made) and disposes of it; he carefully cleans away the smears of butter and sauce afterward.</p><p>Using some of the remaining giant blocks, he builds another tall corral and adds a bed, a fresh litter pan, food and water, some blankets, and a handful of toys. Since he's the only one around, he heats up a disc in the microwave and wraps it in a towel, putting it in the bed; he goes back to the kittens and snags Dolmades.</p><p>Dolmades takes his bath with a minimum of fussing, complaining more about being required to stay in the sink than the actual bathing. Pebble is next; she wails as if he's actually hurting her. He winces through the entire ordeal, feeling guilty despite knowing that she's just fine. The water is the perfect temperature, the soap is mild, his touches are gentle: it's the suddenness of the new experience that's upsetting. Piroshki is fascinated by the bubbles, when it's her turn, and she looks almost disappointed when the last suds are washed down the drain.</p><p>Basil doesn't seem to register the bath so much as she does the many interesting new things to look at, making indignant little noises whenever Jay stops her from going to explore. Knish takes after Pebble, his cries frantic, bordering on panicked; Jay gets wound up right along with him, at least until Knish sneezes, startling them both. He quickly gives Knish a last rinse, then bundles him up in a towel and dries him off as he heads back into the kitten room.</p><p>Jay makes sure the kittens are warm enough, tucking a towel in around them before draping another small fleece blanket over them; he's careful to leave room for them to get out if they need to. Once he's satisfied that they'll be fine for a while, he disassembles their former nest area and moves the camera to the new nest. The parts of the former nest that can be wiped down with paper towel and cleaning spray get cleaned up that way, while everything else is split up between machine-washable or hand-washable. There's not quite enough laundry for a full load, so he drops the bedding into the hamper at the top of the basement stairs and heads back to bed.</p><p>He sends pictures and a short section of video to his three most-used contacts, along with a brief explanation of how it all happened, then wishes the kittens good night before he himself goes back to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The kittens wake him up again, but not by walking on him. No, this time their wake-up call is entirely intangible and quite odiferous. Jay scrubs his face with both hands as he heads over to the nest, hoping that he's imagining the smell, then peeks over the edge.</p><p>Not only is it not his imagination, it's... Well, he would have preferred it to stay as a scent and not as reality, but he already knew that kitten wrangling was not all 3 AM noodle hijinks and sweet cuddle-puddles. Most of the mess is at least contained by the litter box, but there are little footprints. And smears. And... He cocks his head as he squints at—oh. Someone had vomited. He goes back over to his bed and gets his phone, sending Marigot a text to let her know that A) the kittens were having some digestive issues thanks to their middle-of-the-night rumpus and B) he knew all about it so could she please let everyone know?</p><p>His phone rings a minute later, surprising everyone. Marigot's number is on the screen, so he answers without trepidation. "Hello."</p><p>"Hi," Marigot says, then actually <em>giggles</em>. "Sorry, sorry. Um. Sorry. I just wanted to tell you that you have my sympathies, and if you'd like a hand cleaning up I can come over earlier."</p><p>He smiles and says, "Thank you. I think I can handle it, though. It's not as bad as it smells."</p><p>Marigot laughs again. "It never is. Okay, I'll see you at the usual time, then."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"Oh, one more thing, actually—would you be willing to upload the video from last night to the channel? The part you sent me was hilarious, and I'm sure plenty of other people would love to see it. You can use the channel login to do it, so you don't have to make one of your own."</p><p>Jay frowns at the idea, more thoughtful than unhappy. "I can try? My internet experience is limited to pretty, uh, practical things, so I've never done it before."</p><p>"I think the Operations Manual has a page on it? If not, you can look up a how-to on the site itself. If you can't get it posted, don't worry about it, I just thought it might be fun."</p><p>"Okay." Tension he hadn't been aware of leaves him, his shoulders dropping, at the reassurance that it wasn't a requirement: if there was no mission, there could be no mission failure.</p><p>"Great, thanks. Okay, I've got to run. Good luck with your stinky babies!"</p><p>"You're welcome," Jay says, mildly bewildered, then laughs at her farewell. "Thanks. Have a good day."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>He decides he's going to call Anikó back while he's cleaning up, a process made much easier by the fact that the kittens do their best to sleep through his scrubbing (and soft swearing in Russian). They all complain at varying levels of volume and emphasis as he wipes off their feet, and in a couple of cases, bottoms, but he doesn't feel nearly as bad about it as he had when Pebble had her bath.</p><p>Jay checks his texts once he's washed his hands, smiling at Natalia's emoji-laden reply; there was also one from Marigot suggesting that he add some probiotic powder to the wet food to help their tummies settle. His favorite, however, is the one Steve sent five minutes after he'd fallen asleep again.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Jay (🐝 🐈)<br/>I woke Clint up laughing at your messages.<br/>He says to tell you the kittens are adorable<br/>and that his dog once ate a whole pizza when<br/>he was a puppy and spent all day throwing up.<br/>Not sure if that's supposed to be commiseration<br/>or a warning.<br/><br/>We're on our way back to the states now, so I<br/>should see you today. Mission was fine,<br/>only minor injuries on our side.<br/><br/>Hope the rest of your night is less messy!</em>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>I am lucky that they didn't eat that much. And only<br/>one kitten has vomited so far (that I know of). They<br/>are sleeping off their adventures right now.<br/><br/>My day hasn't been too awful so far. I'll tell you all<br/>about it when you get here. </em>
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</p><p> </p><p>"Hello, Jay?"</p><p>"Yes," Jay says, retreating to the library once more.</p><p>"Oh, good. It's Anikó Solyom, returning your call."</p><p>"Yes, thank you," he says, curling up in the corner of the sofa. It feels almost as old and broken-in as the one in the attic, but smells much less dusty. "I wanted to let you know I've made up my mind, and I, um, I want to try. Working with you."</p><p>"Oh? Excellent! Thank you for letting me know. I have enough time today for us to talk about the ground rules, and then make a rough plan for what you'd like to work on or accomplish in the near future, if you have the time?"</p><p>"I think so..." Jay checks the time on the big clock in the corner of the room. "I have about an hour and a half, so yes. Ground rules?"</p><p>"We won't run that long, but that's good to know. And yes, just some simple rules to make this work a little more smoothly for both of us. It's nothing onerous, and we've already discussed one of them—the first one. Do you have any other questions before we start?"</p><p>He thinks about it, then says, "I don't know how to ask this, so... Your site says you've worked for ten years, so you went to school before that. I'm sure that new things have been discovered since then, we've learned all kinds of things since, since the moon landings, so..."</p><p>"Oh, sure, that's a great question," Anikó says, sounding unconcered about any possible rudeness on Jay's part. "I do my best to keep up with the latest studies, and I usually attend at least one conference or symposium a year if I can. In fact, I'm planning to attend an upcoming lunch lecture at George Washington University on working with survivors of accidents who have lost limbs."</p><p>"I lost my arm," Jay blurts, then, "sorry, I, um... Sorry."</p><p>"No, that's fine, that's something I should know," Anikó says, after a split second of silence. "Thank you for telling me. Generally I would have asked you about that kind of thing a little later, but now I know. Anyway, do you want some more information on my continuing education credits?"</p><p>"I think... I think that's good."</p><p>"Sure. You can always ask me again later. Shall we move on to the rules, or do you want to talk about something else first?"</p><p>"We can talk about the rules."</p><p>"Okay. I said we'd already talked about the first rule, which is that you can tell me anything you want or need to say, and unless I believe your words show a clear intent to commit harm, it goes no farther than me and my coded notes."</p><p>"Right. And I don't, <em>won't</em> hurt anyone. Or myself. I don't <em>want</em> to. I... I already have, and it... I didn't want to do it." He's almost whispering by the end of the sentence.</p><p>"That's something we'll definitely be talking about, but not now," she says, her voice gentle. "And I want you to know that while I may ask you painful questions, or we may cover painful topics, I will <em>never</em> ask you to do something that harms you or someone else. Which leads us nicely to my second rule, which is that we're going to talk about all kinds of things, from the simple and benign to complex and frightening. You are allowed to take breaks, to step back, to change the topic, if we get deep into something that's hard to deal with. We won't be able to put things off indefinitely, but we don't have to try to conquer them all in one go. Does that make sense?"</p><p>He's quiet as he thinks it over for a few moments. "If we were... If we were talking. About something...bad. And I had to stop..."</p><p>"Then we stop. I may—probably will—ask you if you can tell me <em>why</em> you need to stop, so I can figure out a way to help you tackle it in the future, but we'll stop."</p><p>"Okay. Good. That's...good."</p><p>"My third rule is that I will be honest with you as we go along, in my assessment of your progress, and I will not lie or bend the truth when you ask me specific questions as we go. I may not be able to answer those questions, but I'll give you an honest reason as to why. In return, I need you to be honest, too—I don't need every last agonizing detail, if it's something to do with your experiences, but I'll need enough to know how best to help you."</p><p>"What if it's... What if it's something that's hard to believe?"</p><p>"You know, that's a very good question. In the last few years, the world has learned that aliens exist, so does that mean everyone who has ever claimed to have been abducted by aliens is now telling the truth? I honestly don't know. Partially because that's not my area of expertise, unless they come to me for help dealing with the trauma. And then there's the entire Insight debacle..." Anikó blows out a breath at that. "I haven't looked into the files or reasoning behind what happened, outside of reading some of the big investigative pieces. Again, not my area. <em>Something</em> was going on, though, that much is obvious. If you were affected by it, you were affected by it and that's what I can help with."</p><p>"And even if I said, if I told you, I was... I was involved? You wouldn't...call anyone?"</p><p>"From what I understand from the articles I've read, there were thousands of people who were technically 'involved' because they worked for SHIELD, whether directly or as contractors. They had nothing to do with the fight that resulted in the mess in DC, or in any of the decisions that led to the fight. It also seems like the people who organized the building of those big things—what were they calling them? Halo carriers? Whatever—anyway, it seems like they did their best to keep the parts separate so that very few outsiders could connect the dots. If they asked you to design a circuit or something and told you it was for something innocuous, there's probably a paper trail showing exactly that—you're responsible for this chip for, I don't know, improving the office coffee pot, not death lasers from the sky."</p><p>Jay huffs softly, the tiniest thread of amusement making itself known. "No. No, I wasn't part of that. Coffee or death lasers." He sighs, then covers a yawn. "Sorry. Um. I can... I can be honest. I can <em>try</em>. I'm... It's, this place, it's... I'm safe, here. I don't want to have to leave. I don't want... I don't want to go back to fighting. I'm not a weapon, I'm a <em>person.</em>"</p><p>"That's right, you <em>are</em> a person," Anikó says, and her voice is soft again. "One of the most human things you can do is make connections with other people, and you're doing that right now."</p><p>"They... They wanted a weapon. Weapons don't speak. Don't, don't want. Have opinions. Can't... Can't say <em>no</em>. I said no. I said it a lot. And then they, they..." His breath catches in his throat and he squeezes his left hand into a tight fist, the plates shuffling up and down his arm.</p><p>"When you're ready," Anikó says, after half a minute of silence.</p><p>"They made me," Jay says, somehow getting the words out. "I was, I was just... normal. Before. And then they caught me, and gave—they made me. I wouldn't have—<em>I said no.</em> And they didn't care." He knows he's not making any sense, but he's not sure he has the energy or the courage to add context.</p><p>"Okay," Anikó says, still soft, still gentle. "Can you tell me who 'they' are?"</p><p>For a long few seconds, he thinks he might throw up if he opens his mouth. Finally, he manages to scrape out a, "No. Not, not now."</p><p>"Okay. Do you want to keep talking about this?"</p><p>"Yes. No. No, I don't. But I have to, don't I." He holds his breath, trying to bolster himself for the coming ordeal.</p><p>"No, not now. I would like to come back to it, but today isn't the day for it. Today is for big-picture discussions, for figuring out what needs addressing first. Triage, basically. Can you breathe with me for a minute, Jay? Just like this, nice and slow." She takes a deep, even breath and exhales the same way.</p><p>"Okay," he says, following her example.</p><p>"Great, good job. Again." They breathe in concert for a half-dozen cycles, at which point Anikó says, "There you go. You did great. Feeling a little more centered?"</p><p>"I think so," he says. He doesn't feel like he's teetering on the verge of panic, at least, so he can't complain.</p><p>"Good. Okay, so I'm going to mark that down as something that needs to be worked on with a more specific plan than 'poke it and see what happens'. We'll deal with it later. Right now, I think it's going to be more helpful for both of us if we tackle your anxiety."</p><p>"How do we do that?" He's not entirely sure how to articulate his gratitude at being allowed to leave Hydra for later, so he doesn't say anything.</p><p>"To start, I'm going to email you links to a handful of assessment surveys. The first one is for anxiety and depression, the rest are for things relating to PTSD—Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—among other things. They're not tests, just a way to figure out where you are right now, so there aren't any right or wrong answers. The instructions will be in the email, as well as right on the page, so you don't have to worry about remembering anything. You just fill them out and click on the big red button that says "submit" and then I'll review them."</p><p>"They're not tests."</p><p>"No. No passing, no failing, no grading—I was a TA in college for a while, I've had my fill of that. Just you, taking your time to give me more information about what you're experiencing so we have a solid idea of where we're starting from."</p><p>"Okay. Okay, I can do that."</p><p>"I know you can. Oh, do you prefer physical books or electronic? I have some books that have proven quite helpful over the years, and I'll send you the latest editions. You'll get the e-book versions either way, just so you can access them wherever you are."</p><p>"Um... Physical books. Please." Jay's beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the apparently casual generosity of this person he's never even met face to face. "Thank you."</p><p>"Great! E-books are fantastic, but there's just something about holding a book in your hand, isn't there? All right, so I made that note. Was there anything else I was going to talk to you about? Hmm..." Anikó is quiet for a few moments, then says, "I think we've covered everything for today, at least on my list. Do you have any other questions or concerns?"</p><p>"I... This was a lot of...information. I think I might have questions later," he says.</p><p>"That is absolutely fine," Anikó says, her voice warm. "We did go over a lot." She proceeds with a quick recap of what they'd discussed, promised him an email within the next 24 hours, then handed him off to her receptionist to schedule his next appointment and arrange payment details. (He wasn't worried about affording it—he and Natalia had raided a few of Hydra's accounts, draining them dry. As she pointed out, he was owed at least pay commensurate with that of an average STRIKE team leader for the years he'd been with them, never mind damages. "But the courts are pretty busy right now, so we'll just have to take justice into our own hands," she'd added.)</p><p>He's a strange sort of exhausted when he finally ends the call and goes back into the kitten room. The idea of lying down for a while is tempting, but he isn't sure he'd be able to sleep if he did. The whole question is a bit moot, however, once he enters the room: Knish is scratching around in the litter pan and making sad little squeaks, while the rest of them crowd the wall and meow at him for attention. Jay checks his watch as he kneels beside the nest area, noting that Steve should be arriving in another hour or so. He has time for a nap, but it seems like a better use of his time to spend it awake and with the kittens—he has some thinking to do.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Steve brings food when he comes into the kitten room; the two of them picnic on the floor as they discuss their respective days.</p><p>"I... I have a therapist," Jay says, once they've covered Steve seeing Archie and some of the other regulars at out at the feeding site and the aftermath of the 3 AM Noodle Hijinks. "She's... Her name is Anikó."</p><p>"Yeah? Wow, that's great. Is this the woman that Nat was looking into last week?" Steve says, popping the lid off his milkshake so he can stir it with the straw.</p><p>"Yes. She's not, she's... She's safe. I haven't told her...everything. About me. Yet. But I think... I think she'll help." Jay sighs a little, more tired than anything.</p><p>"Good. I had a therapist, once. Shield set it up for me. I... probably didn't put in as much of an effort as I could have," Steve says, dipping a french fry into his shake. "I thought I was fine, you know? I got enough sleep, I didn't drink myself into oblivion every night, I wasn't... I wasn't like some of the men that came home from The Great War. Like Mr Garland on the third floor."</p><p>Jay lets the quiet stretch out as he tries to remember Mr Garland. Before he can say anything about it, Steve speaks again.</p><p>"I'm pretty sure I was definitely <em>not</em> okay. I slept enough to function, I didn't and don't drink because it doesn't affect me, and maybe I didn't sit and stare at nothing for hours like Mr Garland, but..." He eats the fry, then runs a hand through his hair. "I went to some meetings at the VA—Veteran's Administration, they help people from all branches of the services—and some of the stuff I heard the people saying... I recognized it."</p><p>"Are you... You said you weren't okay, are you better?"</p><p>"No idea. I'm definitely not as bad off as I was, so I guess?" Steve shrugs and eats another french fry. "I should probably ask a professional, though."</p><p>"Maybe you should," Jay says with a shrug of his own. "I actually... I started out talking to her because the kittens, they're going to be old enough to be adopted soon. Which I'm not ready for. I know—Marigot showed me the form that people have to fill out, and it's <em>long</em>. There's a place for the vet's name and address and phone number, and the emergency vet clinic, and references. Anyone who wants to adopt has to promise not to declaw them—"</p><p>"Good," Steve says, voice and expression bordering on fierce. "<em>Good.</em> I read an article about some people who are working to spread an anti-declawing movement and they described how cats are declawed and it's..." He shakes his head. "I'm glad that's in the adoption form. Cats need their claws."</p><p>"I looked it up," Jay says, grimacing at the memory. "Me too. It helped to read the form, to see how much information has to come to Marigot and everyone. She says that they discuss the applications, too, and call the vets and the references. It's a process, and not everyone who applies makes it through. One time they rejected six people in a row for a pair of kittens and when they got to number seven they all knew that this was the person that was supposed to get them. One of the people they rejected got arrested for something involving drugs, so that was lucky."</p><p>"It sounds like a good system," Steve says, nodding a couple of times. He takes a long pull on his milkshake before continuing. "But it's still not going to be easy to say goodbye. I don't really want to and I don't spend that much time with them... Nat usually has the livestream up, though, so I do get to see them pretty frequently."</p><p>"She does?"</p><p>"Yeah. I know she likes it, but I think half the time she puts it on because it kind of drives Tony crazy. Speaking of Tony, he said he'd stopped by—he didn't... It wasn't...too..." He trails off, looking mildly annoyed with his lack of words.</p><p>Jay makes a soft amused sound. "Yes, he did visit. I don't... How do you get anything <em>done</em> with him talking all the time? He talked to me, but he talked to himself, his phone, someone named Jarvis? The walls, the wires, his tools, the cats... I think he might have talked to the floor at one point."</p><p>Steve laughs and shakes his head. "He can be surprisingly focused on missions. I think he just gets used to working by himself or with his robots—you should see his workshop, it's amazing—and he talks to them all the time. Jarvis is an Artificial Intelligence program, Tony invented him. It's... God, it sounds silly, but being at the tower where I can ask Jarvis to do things is... It's living in the future!"</p><p>"What kind of things?" Natalia had mentioned something about Jarvis being on his laptop, unactivated, and assumed that it had been some piece of software that he didn't actually need. "I know. I'm still not sure what exactly my phone can do, and it's still kind of strange to think of a little glass and metal and plastic sandwich as a <em>telephone</em>."</p><p>"Ugh, me too," Steve says, but his tone is amused. "One time I left my apartment without turning off the lights, so I asked Jarvis if he would please turn them off for me. Another time, I asked him to start the shower for me, because I was just back from a mission and the idea of having to do it myself was just... Too much. Nat usually asks him to play music, and we all ask him to order food for us. At least when we're at the tower. He's basically Tony's personal assistant for anything that could be done by an actual assistant but doesn't require anyone to stay up all night to cater to his whims. Or suddenly remembering that he needs to send his dry-cleaning out."</p><p>"Huh." Having someone else start the shower or run a bath sounds really nice, actually. "That's... I see what you mean about it being the future," Jay says.</p><p>"But Tony wasn't... He didn't say anything...rude, to you?" Steve fidgets with the edge of the lid for his shake.</p><p>"He said some strange things, about me killing someone. Howard. But it was... It was a little bit, right at the beginning, and it got...lost. Because he just kept <em>talking</em>." Jay worries at the napkin in his hands, not sure if Steve was asking because Steve really likes Tony or what.</p><p>"Ah. We—you and I—knew his dad, Howard Stark, and..." Steve sighs, his shoulder slumping as he watches his fingers turning the lid around. "He was killed by...that organization."</p><p>"And I had something to do with it," Jay says, resigned. Of course. Of course it couldn't have been anything easy.</p><p>"Yes and no," Steve says, glancing up at Jay. "Your body might have been there, but there's a small mountain of evidence proving that you had... You'd been..." He can't finish the sentence, his breath catching and his eyes squeezing shut. "It was... bad. They did...unconscionable things. To make you do what <em>they</em> wanted."</p><p>Jay doesn't say anything to that, just gets up and goes over to close the door to the hall. He goes to the nest area next, having heard the kittens stirring, and grabs Knish and Basil; he hands them off to Steve. Before he picks up any more kittens, he gets the litter pan and puts it down near the remains of their luncheon. After that's done, he retrieves Dolmades, Pebble, and Piroshki and sits down beside Steve once more. "I know it was...bad," he says, quietly, "what they did. I don't remember most of it—"</p><p>"Thank God," Steve mutters.</p><p>"—And I don't remember much of what I did. I don't... I don't know how to even think about it. I don't know if I want to know what I did." He rubs Piroshki's belly, watching her stretch out to what seems like absurd proportions. "And I don't know if that's...bad."</p><p>"That's...probably a question for Anikó," Steve says, his own voice quiet. "I'm a little too biased in favor of you never having to deal with it again."</p><p>They fall silent, then, focusing on the waking kittens. It's a comfortable quiet, for which Jay is grateful. At least, it's quiet until Basil hops off of Steve's knee and makes her way over to the litter box, whereupon she starts scratching around and making little squeaky sounds.</p><p>"Aw, have they not quite gotten over using the box?" Steve says.</p><p>"Mm, no, they seem to be used to it now. I think this is more because she wasn't feeling good earlier," Jay says. Just as he's done speaking, Basil proves that she's still not feeling tip-top.</p><p>"Oh. Wow. That's... That's not something I'm going to forget." Steve blinks a few times as the smell washes over them. "I see why it woke you up."</p><p>"Yeah," Jay says, keeping an eye on Basil as Dolmades wriggles out of Pebble's grasp to go see what his sister is up to. "Oh, Dolmades—No, don't—" He sighs as Dolmades shoves his way in beside Basil in order to... Help? Maybe? Mostly what he seems to be doing is getting in the way and possibly walking through Basil's poop.</p><p>"Oh," Steve says, sounding—and looking—like he's trying very hard not to laugh. "Um. Oops?"</p><p>Pebble heads over to Steve and hauls herself up onto his leg, using her claws to assist. She gets as far as sinking her little pitons into Steve's shirt before he carefully lifts her away from his chest. "Okay, that's, let's not put more holes in my skin, okay?"</p><p>"More?" Jay says, glancing away from his observation of Dolmades and Basil, who look like they're thinking about wrestling. While still in the litter box. He really doesn't want to give them two baths in the same day.</p><p>"The two small ones I picked up on my trip out of town have healed up, but it's never fun." He shrugs again, carefully turning Pebble onto her back so he can rub her tummy. She repays him by grabbing at his hand with her front feet and nipping at his thumb while bunny-kicking at his palm.</p><p>"No, it's not—Oh, for God's sake, Basil!" Basil, because she <em>is</em> a cat even if she is very new to being a cat, ignores the sound of her name. She is, after all, very busy rolling her brother over while attempting to bite Dolmades's face and simultaneously attempting to avoid getting bitten. And, of course, they're both <em>still</em> in the box.</p><p>Steve can't contain his laughter this time, though he does at least have the decency to suppress it into a snicker. "Sorry," he says, voice still tremoulous with amusement, "sorry, it's just..."</p><p>"I know," Jay says, on the edge of laughter himself. "Ugh, you two are awful," he says to the kittens as he gives Piroshki to Steve so he can get up. He goes into the kitchen and wets a good handful of paper towels at the sink; when he gets back to Steve and the kittens, Basil at least has left the box and is washing a paw. She only complains a little as Jay wipes her down, and Dolmades just tries to play with the paper towels when it's his turn.</p><p>"I'm so glad I get to share these glamorous moments with you," Steve says, when Jay sits down after disposing of the trash.</p><p>"It's not so bad," Jay says, after a moment or two of consideration. "It's proof they're alive. I'm alive. And I can... I can do more, more than...I was made to."</p><p>"That's true," Steve says, words slow as he follows the train of thought.</p><p>"But it's nicer when they prove we're both alive by biting me instead," Jay says, a rare grin coming to his face as Steve laughs again.</p><p>Their talk turns to lighter topics, after that, and by the time Steve has to go the two of them are almost more cheerful than when he'd arrived. Just before Steve heads out, Jay says, "After I talked to Anikó, and, and to Tony... I thought about it. It's... If you want to call me, um, Bucky, you can."</p><p>"Oh," Steve says, his eyes going bright; he smiles gently at Bucky. "Okay. Thank you. And if you change your mind, just say so."</p><p>"Sure," Bucky says, feeling a smile tug at his own mouth. It's been nice, letting himself and his body react to other people. "You're welcome."</p><p>"All right. Have a good evening, and I hope the kittens feel better soon."   </p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter features a vet visit for a pregnant cat. There are non-graphic discussions of internal structures visible on X-ray films and mentions of discharge and blood. &lt;-- That's about as graphic as the mentions get, if you were concerned.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky is dusting the window sills in the intake room when a sedan pulls up the driveway; he pauses and studies the car in an attempt to discern both whether the driver was alone or part of some alphabet agency with a burning desire to bring him in.</p><p>It turns out that the answers are no and no. The driver's companion, however, is a cardboard box. Bucky sighs and steels himself for another asshole dumping their unwanted responsibility onto him and opens the door as the guy starts up the steps. "Can I help you?"</p><p>"Yeah, hi," the guy says, holding the box a little higher. He's young, practically a kid—he's twenty if he's a day—and he looks kind of unhappy about something. "I like found this cat in the bushes by my place, and it's real friendly. I can't keep it, 'cause my building doesn't allow pets, so I looked for someplace I could bring it. I found you guys, so... And I think it's maybe like sick? Or something's wrong with it. You can see somethin' moving if you watch its sides. And it's missing some fur." He's standing on the top step as he finishes speaking. "I know you're probably real busy, but..."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, stepping forward to take the box. There's something in the kid's posture and the tone of his voice that strikes him as genuine, like the guy would keep the cat if he could. "Is there anything else you can tell me about the cat?"</p><p>"No, sorry. I think they were a pet before, though, 'cause it's not afraid of people," the guy says. "And it's real hungry. It ate a whole can of tuna between last night and this morning."</p><p>"Okay. Well, thank you for bringing it here," Bucky says, not sure what else was appropriate. Then he has a thought and adds, "Do you want to leave your name and number in case you move and you can have a pet?"</p><p>He smiles, a lopsided expression that's sadder than it should be. "Wish I could, but I'm not gonna be moving any time soon. Sorry. Thanks, though."</p><p>"Sure. Um. If they are friendly, we'll probably keep them until they're adopted. They might be on one of our live streams. So you might get to see them."</p><p>"Okay, that's cool. I gotta go, sorry. 'Bye." He gives them one last look, then turns and walks back to his car.</p><p>There's an inquisitive sound from inside the box, along with a soft scrabbling as the weight inside shifts from side to side. "'Bye," Bucky calls. To the box, he says, "All right, let's get you checked out."</p><p>He'd made peace with Feral to Family's intake protocols after he and Steve had watched a half-dozen videos of feral cats getting through the procedure—including Belladonna, who was in so much pain and so scared she screamed and lashed out violently whenever anyone even tried to <em>look</em> at her while she was in the trap—with neither cat nor rescuer coming to any harm. Several of the cats were even relaxed and purring by the end of the exam, even if they still didn't take to humans in general afterward.</p><p>Bucky locks up, then takes the box into the intake room. "I'll be right back, okay? I have to go get some things and then we can get you out of there," he says. He goes back to the room under the stairs where most of the medical supplies are kept, rounding up the carry-all with most of the necessary items and grabbing the scale on the way back to the intake room.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Let's see what we have," Bucky says, once he's set up his phone to record, laid everything out, and has weighed the towel. The flaps had been taped closed, though whoever had put the cat into the box had been good enough to put some air holes in the sides. He uses his right thumbnail to break the tape, holding the top closed with the same hand while he drapes the towel over top with the other.</p><p>When he lets go of the cardboard, it's quickly pushed up and out of the way by a pretty calico face with big golden eyes.</p><p>"Hi," Bucky says, "look at you."</p><p>"Mrrp," the cat says, turning their head and stretching their neck a little so they can sniff at Bucky's left hand. The cat hops out of the box and immediately bumps their head against the inside of Bucky's left arm, a soft purring starting up.</p><p>"Hello," Bucky says, startled into stillness by the friendly display. The cat does look a little strange, with a narrow face and tilted eyes, big ears, splashes of white and tabby and ginger stripes, and oddly long legs contrasting with a weirdly cylindrical body. There's also a fair amount of hair missing from the cat's sides and tail; when the cat turns to rub up against Bucky's right arm, he sees their belly is missing some hair, too. "What's the matter with you, huh? You're awful sweet for being 'found in a bush'."</p><p>"Mee," the cat says, and bumps their head into his right hand.</p><p>"Yeah, you're a sweetheart," Bucky says, sitting up straight. He leaves the towel where it is and brings his hands down so the cat can see them, moving slowly as he reaches forward. "But you're here now, and I have some stuff I have to do with you. It won't hurt, I promise."</p><p>The cat—whom he discovers is female—doesn't mind his invasion of her privacy, or at least her objections don't amount to much more than trying to keep her tail clamped down over her backside after he determines her sex (but before he can take her temperature) and trying to walk away from him as he tries to weigh her. She definitely has fleas, so he carefully applies a dose of ParaBane right at the base of the back of her neck; her ears are relatively clean but she's in dire need of dental treatment. The only things he's not sure about are the hair loss and her odd shape.</p><p>Bucky watches her flop onto her side after he's finished, observing her abdomen carefully for a few minutes. He's rewarded with some rather disturbing-looking movements under her skin, which make him frown; he puts the stethoscope back in his ears and sets it against her belly. There are scratchy-scraping sounds as he moves the bell of the stethoscope across her body, but every now and then—Ah! There, he can hear a tiny little lubdublubdublubdub, an echo of the adult heart in her chest only faster. A little over that way is another, and off that way is a third.</p><p>"You're pregnant," Bucky tells her; she heaves a sigh and closes her eyes. Smiling, he adds, "Yeah, sorry, you already knew that. Are you hungry? Do you wanna meet some other kittens? You need a name. And I need to clean this all up."</p><p>He folds up the towel, folds the flaps of the box down into the box itself, then puts the towel in the bottom of the box. "Why don't you nap in here while I straighten up?" Carefully, he picks her up and sets her on the towel.</p><p>She goes into the box willingly enough, but watches Bucky picking up after himself rather than lying down and getting some sleep.</p><p>Bucky doesn't mind her supervision—he's had worse. When he's done wiping things down and putting things away, he unlocks the parlor doors and then takes her into the former formal dining room. The nesting cabinets are always ready, so all he has to do is put her inside one of them, then set out food and water dishes.</p><p>The opening on the end of the cabinet is large enough that she easily fits through it; she gets distracted from her exploration of the room by the water. Bucky checks the litter box—pristine and full of fresh litter—and adjusts the bed on top of the cabinets, right in front of the windows. There's a box of soft toys on the shelves near the door to the kitchen and he digs through it, picking a few different kinds of mice, a couple of kinds of balls, and a funny pink plastic spring to scatter on the floor. He also spreads out a couple of fleece blankets (one with a print of cupcakes, one with dinosaurs driving construction vehicles) and makes sure the big scratching post (it came up to his hip) isn't going to fall over.</p><p>"There you go," he says, "now I need to go let people know you're here and figure out what you should be called."</p><p>Before he can leave, however, she catches the sound of the kittens playing and walks confidently over to the wall. She hops up onto it and looks down into the play area for a few moments, then trills at the kittens.</p><p>The reactions are immediate, simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking: Every kitten stops what they're doing to look up at the new arrival, backs arching, fur fluffing, tiny hisses and growls coming from little mouths.</p><p>New Mama isn't perturbed by the display, dropping down onto the rumpled blanket and sniffing at it. Her tail swings easily from side to side, a rhythmic flick that betrays no concern or anxiety.</p><p>Pebble is the first to be brave, stalking forward to try sniffing at New Mama's tail. When she can't put her nose in the right place at the right time, she grabs at it with her left front paw—which makes New Mama turn around to look at her. Pebble hisses and makes an impressive leap backward.</p><p>Dolmades is not as thrilled with Pebble's mighty escape trajectory, because she lands on him. In the finest traditions of siblings everywhere, he bites her. Pebble objects to this reaction by grabbing him around the neck and biting the side of his face; it quickly devolves into plain old wrestling from there.</p><p>Basil, on the other hand, has been watching New Mama's tail. She takes advantage of New Mama's distraction by the wrestling match to pounce on the tantalizing appendage... And then finds herself abruptly held down while New Mama sets about licking the top of Basil's head.</p><p>Bucky had been planning to introduce them in a slightly less exciting manner, but he supposes that as long as no one is in danger of hurting one another they'll be fine. He finds his phone and takes a picture of New Mama (who is now staunchly ignoring Knish's bunny-kicks as he complains about the bath she's giving him) to send to his three most-used contacts.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: KittenPics<br/>Some kid just dropped this beauty off at the house.<br/>No name, but she's pregnant.<br/>Going to call the clinic now.</em>
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</blockquote><p> </p><p>The responses ranged from a handful of the colorful icons that Natalia favored to Marigot's curt (but not rude-feeling) <em>UGH ok thx!</em> to Steve's <em>She's gorgeous.</em></p><p>Making the appointment is easy, thanks to the handful of scripts in the back of <em>TROUBLESHOOTING.</em> Bucky's careful to write down the date and time on the calendar, as well as the white board on the fridge. Naming her was a little more of a challenge, but Marigot pointed him to the collection of baby-naming books on one of the lower shelves in the library. After flipping through the first few pages of the A's in <em>Beyond Jennifer And Jason</em>, he sighs and puts it down. He picks up <em>The Baby Boomer Book of Names </em>and discovers that it's not actually intended as a name resource—the "definitions" are probably supposed to be humorous, but it all pretty much goes over his head. One of the perils of having missed most of the last 60-plus years, he guesses.</p><p>The next book he picks up is called <em>20,001 Names for Baby</em>. Bucky doesn't like the cover; the base color is a relatively pleasant yellow, but the title is printed in a strange shade of greenish-blue with pink accents. A white wicker bassinet rests on a bed of multicolored flowers beneath the title, while pink ribbons with blue flowers attached to them are held aloft to either side by white doves. It all clashes horribly and looks sort of like a headache feels.</p><p>To take his mind off the outside, he lets the book fall open where it will. There's a thin plastic envelope decorated with cats stuck between the pages, addressed to the marketing department of some corporation that he doesn't recognize. He moves it to the back of the book so he can look at the names underneath, and the third one down is <em>Celeste.</em> Bucky likes the way it sounds, and when he thinks of it in connection with the funny calico who had immediately taken to his kittens it feels right. He puts the books back and goes to check on everyone.</p><p>In the kitten room, Celeste is lying on her side, stretched out with her back against the block wall while the kittens are lined up against her belly, each seeming to have found a nipple to latch onto. He frowns at the arrangement, then goes back to the kitchen for the <em>KITTENS!</em> book. It's divided into sections by sturdy cardstock, each with a helpful label. In the section labeled <em>NURSING,</em> he flips to the last few pages until he finds one titled <em>Nursing in Weaned/Adolescent Kittens and Adults.</em></p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>As long as the provider of the nipples puts up with it, weaned kittens of all ages and some adult cats will continue to engage in what is known as comfort nursing. The comfort seems to affect both sides of the equation and doesn't impair kitten development. Kittens are pretty indiscriminate when it comes to comfort nursing—male or female, as long as the adult cat has nipples they'll do their best to latch on. </em>
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  <p>
    <em>The biggest concern involving comfort nursing is when the nipple-provider is a pregnant female, since milk/colostrum production begins about 48 hours prior to giving birth. Separate older kittens from pregnant females 3-4 days before projected due date, both to give mama some alone time and to keep her milkbar full and ready for her own kittens.</em>
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</p><p>Back in the kitten room, he leans over the wall and slowly moves his hand into Celeste's line of sight. "Hi, pretty girl. I think I'm going to call you Celeste. How does that sound?"</p><p>Celeste opens her eyes, then pushes her head up into his fingers, purring loudly.</p><p>"I'll take it," Bucky says, smiling as he rubs behind her ears and skritches her chin. His voice gets a little more serious when he follows up with, "You're gonna go to the vet the day after tomorrow, to make sure you're all okay."</p><p>She yawns, licks her nose a couple of times, then puts her head back down on her paws.</p><p>"Okay," he says, amused. He gives each of the kittens a few strokes with his fingertips, then gets up and considers his to-do lists, both cat-related and personal. He's ticked off most of the cat-things for the day, so he decides that he has time to go up to the attic and look for a table of some kind.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>To: Kitten Wrangler<br/>Have 3 emergency intakes &amp; at least 1 is RW+<br/>so we've got baths meds &amp; DCON reqd.<br/>Can you take Celeste to appt?<br/><br/>To: Kitten Wrangler<br/>Will send you a Lyft to get there.</em>
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</blockquote><p> </p><p>Bucky re-reads Marigot's text, trying to decide how to reply. He's guessing the 'Lyft' is transportation of some kind, which was the second-largest obstacle to a successful mission—<em>Not a mission.</em> Kind of a mission? Okay, it's <em>kind of</em> a mission. But not one he can fail at. Probably? He sighs as his brain begins churning out scenarios that can definitely be considered fail states: Celeste escaping at any point between house and clinic, Celeste meeting with death through some action or inaction on his part, Celeste eating something poisonous—Bucky growls at himself, shakes his head almost hard enough to make his neck twinge, and forces those thoughts aside. The question that has been asked is:  can he take her to the clinic for her appointment?  The answer, barring some sort of outside intervention, is yes. He can, in fact, take the cat from the house to a vehicle, and from the vehicle into the clinic building.</p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Marigot<br/>Yes. I can take her there. </em>
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  <p>
    
    <em>To: Kitten Wrangler</em>
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  <p>
    <em>Thank God! OK. Scheduling Lyft for you now.<br/><br/>Don't worry about paying for car or visit, it's all set up. <br/>Just tell them you're with us<br/><br/>Dave or Suzanne at the front desk will know what to do.</em>
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  <p>
    <em>THANK YOU SO MUCH. ❤️❤️❤️</em>
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</p><p> </p><p>The vet clinic is calm and relatively quiet when Bucky and Celeste arrive. It smells strange, a familiar medical scent layered over a warm animal smell, reminding him of the flickering thoughts of the dog he'd held. There's a cheerful older woman behind the front counter who greets them with a smile and tells Celeste that she's very pretty, then asks him to weigh her. Celeste cooperates fairly well with the weighing, returning to the carrier with little reluctance when it's time.</p><p>After that, they go and sit near an aquarium with small, brightly-colored fish in it to wait their turn. Bucky turns the carrier so that Celeste has a better view of the fish and is surprised when Celeste starts to make little chattery noises at them, her tail thumping against the side of the carrier.</p><p>A door on the far side of the room opens and a young woman with bright pink hair looks over and says, "Jay and Celeste?"</p><p>"Yes," he says, and stands up.</p><p>"In here," she says, and steps back through the door.</p><p>The room is small, maybe thirty square feet in total, partially bisected by a waist-high table. On the wall opposite the door Bucky came through is another door and, to the right of it, two cabinets with some small drawers under a section of countertop and a sink on the far right side. There are familiar glass canisters sitting on the counter, holding gauze and swabs, as well as a brown bottle labeled 'alcohol' in block capitals and a ceramic jar with 'Dog Treats' painted on it in rounded lettering.</p><p>"If you want to let her out of the carrier so she can explore, you can," the woman says, her hand on the knob of the far door. "Or you can wait 'til Dr Cho comes in. I'm going to go tell her you're here. It'll just be a few minutes."</p><p>"Thank you," Bucky says, because it feels like the right thing to say. The smells are stronger, with a slight metallic hint beneath them; he jumps as a dog starts barking somewhere in the back. Celeste actually growls at the sound, so he puts her carrier on the table and peers in through the door. "Don't like dogs, huh?" He asks her.</p><p>Celeste doesn't make any more noises, but her ears are flicking back and forth as she listens to the new sounds.</p><p>"You're welcome," the woman says, and slips through the door.</p><p>Bucky makes a quick tour of the room and decides it's probably safe enough to let Celeste out, so he opens the door for her. She stays put for a few moments, but her innate friendliness quickly overcomes her caution about a new environment and she soon slinks out to sit on the table. "Hey there," Bucky says, softly; he pets her with his right hand and uses his left to put the carrier on the floor by his feet.</p><p>A few minutes later, Celeste is sitting in the sink and patting at the drain hole when there's a tap on the door. "Come in," Bucky says, his stomach tightening as he glances from the door to the sink—the area was for the veterinarian and...did vets have nurses? Probably, so vet-nurses to use, they probably weren't supposed to be on this side of the table—</p><p>"Hi, Jay? I'm Helen Cho, nice to meet you," the doctor says as she opens the door and slides through. She's taller than he expected her to be—most women he's met seem to barely reach his shoulder these days—with dark hair pulled back into a neat tail at the back of her neck. She's wearing a set of plain dark-green scrubs with the name and logo of the clinic embroidered on the left breast, above a pocket with a pen clipped to it. She's carrying the thin folder that the pink-haired woman had left with, and when she spots Celeste in the sink, she smiles. "And you must be Celeste. Has the sink passed inspection?"</p><p>"Nice to meet you," Bucky says, feeling both relieved and confused about what he's supposed to do now. Does he go and get Celeste? Does he shake the doctor's hand? He's aware of a background feeling of gratitude that she looks so unlike the doctors he can remember from...from before. Before he found the house, anyway.</p><p>Celeste, presented with a new person to meet, has put her front feet on the edge of the sink closest to the door and is stretched forward, sniffing at Dr Cho's fingertips.</p><p>"You're a lovely girl, hello," the doctor says, still smiling. To Bucky, she says, "You think she's pregnant?"</p><p>"Yes," Bucky says, glad for the solid conversational ground. "When I was checking her, when she was dropped off, I heard some heartbeats. More than hers, and in the wrong place for her own heart."</p><p>"That's a pretty good indicator of pregnancy," Dr Cho says, putting the folder down. She picks Celeste up and turns to set her on the table, murmuring to the cat as she goes. "She looks pretty good. You said she was dropped off?"</p><p>"Yes." Bucky tells her the story of Celeste's arrival and his examination, finishing it with his assessment of the feelings of the guy who'd brought her to the house.</p><p>"At least he was trying to do the right thing," she says, when he's done. She'd done her own exam while he spoke, though she'd held off on listening to her heart and lungs. "Okay. I'm pretty sure she's pregnant, too—I could feel some little skulls or something—and she definitely needs to get some more food in her. I'm sure you're already feeding her plenty, I know how Marigot is about mamas." She flashes a smile at him. "The hair loss... It doesn't look like she's been over-grooming herself, because the underlying skin doesn't look irritated the way it would be if that was what was happening, so I'm guessing that it's probably a flea allergy. Some cats are allergic to fleas, beyond the itchiness of getting bitten in general, and it makes their hair fall out. As soon as the fleas are gone, the hair grows back.</p><p>"About the only other thing that I can tell from just checking her over is that her teeth need a good cleaning, but we won't do that until after she's weaned her kittens. I'm going to check her heart and lungs, and then we'll get some blood and rads—X-rays—to find out how many kittens she's got."</p><p>"Huh," Bucky says, then goes quiet as Dr Cho puts her stethoscope into place and takes a listen.</p><p>"Can you stop purring for a second?" Cho says to Celeste, smiling as she moves the bell of the instrument along the cat's chest. "No? Okay, then." She gives it a minute or so, then gives up with a shake of her head. "The films will tell us how her lungs and heart look, if nothing else," she says to Bucky, picking Celeste up and cradling her against her right shoulder. "I'm going to take her into the back, but it shouldn't take too long."</p><p>"Should I stay here?" Bucky says, looking around. There's a rack with some wrinkled magazines on the wall with the door that leads back out to the waiting room, next to an art-deco print of a woman with a skinny dog and a cat, with what looked like advertising copy about a veterinarian in French. It looked strangely familiar, but he doesn't bother trying to chase it down.</p><p>"Yes, please. I'll bring her back as soon as we're done, and then I'll go over her films with you."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Bucky listens to the traffic into and out of the clinic as he waits. A woman brings a dog in that gets told to sit about fifteen times before she calls out a weight (38 pounds). A man comes in and says he's there to pick up Tuffie; the pink-haired woman's voice tells him she'll be right out with him. There's some pattering and then a sharp, rhythmic yapping starts up and does. Not. Stop. Until the man takes Tuffie out of the clinic. Someone else comes in and says they've arrived with Petunia and Pansy, for their annual check-up. (Petunia weighs 103 pounds, Pansy 99. Bucky wonders what kind of animals they are, though he suspects they're dogs.)</p><p>About ten minutes pass before the pink-haired woman brings Celeste back to him. "Here you go. She was so good for us when we had to poke her. What a sweetheart."</p><p>"Good," he says, feeling a little shy, a little pleased, even though he knows he had very little to do with Celeste's behavior. "Thank you."</p><p>"Sure. Probably another ten minutes? And then the doc will be back to talk to you about what's going on," she says, then slips back through the door.</p><p>It's closer to fifteen minutes when Dr Cho taps on the door, then enters at Bucky's invitation. "Here I am. Let me get the films pulled up, here..." She opens a drawer and takes a keyboard and mouse out, turning them on and then setting them on the counter. A monitor, mounted on the wall at the end of the table to Bucky's right, lights up as Cho taps away; after a few more clicks, an image of Celeste's bones and some of her soft tissues fills the screen.</p><p>Dr Cho turns around, moving the mouse over to the table. When she starts to speak, however, she points with her left forefinger. "Okay, so this is her spine on top—this is a lateral, side, view—and this is her heart right here. It looks like it's about the right size and it's definitely in the right place, which is great. Her lungs, they're harder to see, but they're here—see this little line here? And it goes along here? That's them. It's great they're hard to see, because that means that they're clear of fluid or other problems. Doesn't rule out some other things, but at least we can say she doesn't have pneumonia. Or a pneumothorax, but I wasn't worried about that one.</p><p>"So those are good. Now for the fun part," she says, clicking a couple more times. The picture that pops up next is also a lateral view, but pulled out a little so that it runs from Celeste's heart to her hips. There's a few ghostly masses of tissue, but the most arresting feature of the radiograph are the little spines that lie in Celeste's belly.</p><p>"Are those—"</p><p>"Yep! These lumps of stuff up here are fecal material and the clear pockets are probably gas, but that's perfectly normal. Looks like she had some breakfast, too," Cho says, pointing them out. Then she moves to the tiny curves and ladders of bones that were the main reason for the X-rays. "In order to figure out how many kittens she's got, we do our best to count spines or skulls. It looks like she has five, one here, one here, two right next to one another, here and here, and a little one tucked over here."</p><p>"Oh, five. Oh..." It's <em>amazing</em>. He moves closer to the screen so he can see better, eyes picking out the miniscule bones of legs and hips and heads. "I've never... They're... They're really in there."</p><p>"Yes," Cho says, her voice kind. "And if you hang on a second..." More clicks, and then the picture changes so that the familiar bones of Celeste's spine run down the center of the screen. "Cats have a split uterus, so two of the kittens are on her left side and the other three are on the right. Or mostly on the right, since these two are sort of snuggling with one another."</p><p>"They've been moving, recently."</p><p>"I felt them," Cho said, sounding excited. "I love it when I get to do that. So, between the size of the kittens in the X-rays and the movement, I'd say she'll probably give birth somewhere in the next... Well, it's hard to say. The soonest is probably about a week, but she might not be quite that far along and so it might be two weeks. From what I can tell, she's somewhere around four or five years old, which... She'll probably be fine, but I'd like you—or whoever's going to be taking care of her—to keep a closer eye on her than usual."</p><p>"I think it will be me. I can do it." Bucky remembered the staggering chart at the front of <em>KITTENS!</em> and adds, "If she's four or five... This might be anything from her tenth to fifteenth litter?"</p><p>"Yes," Dr Cho says, "thus asking you to keep an eye on her. The more litters a cat has, the more difficult her later pregnancies can be. I know she's in good hands, though. Do you have any other questions or concerns?"</p><p>"What should I look out for?"</p><p>"Discharge of any type, but especially blood of any kind. Strange colors, green or yellow, too. It might be hard to catch if she's particularly fastidious."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"And if she goes into labor, of course, I'd appreciate a call."</p><p>"Yes, ma'am."</p><p>"Anything else?"</p><p>"No, I think that's everything."</p><p>"All right. Call back if you think of anything else, and just let someone know you're leaving on the way out. It was great to meet both of you."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"...And then I took Celeste out to where the car was waiting and we came back here. I made sure to give the driver a good tip, too, since she waited for us," Bucky says to Steve. They're sitting in a pair of chairs Bucky had brought down from the attic, the matching small round table between them overflowing with food. They're still eating with their plates in their laps, but at least they'd graduated from sitting on the floor.</p><p>"Sounds like a great visit. I kind of wish I could have seen the X-rays, though," Steve says. "I've never really wanted to be in medicine, but all the new non-invasive ways of looking inside the body are amazing."</p><p>"Um... Hang on a second." Bucky puts his plate on the dresser, trading it for his laptop. "Marigot said Helen—Dr Cho—sent her the rads... Ah. Here." He turns the computer around so that Steve can see the lateral view of Celeste's kittens.</p><p>"Wow," Steve says, leaning over so he can get a better look. "Oh, wow, look at them! That's incredible."</p><p>"It really is."</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter: <i>very</i> sick kitten, mention of poop, mention of intestinal parasites, mentions of upper-respiratory infection and attendant goop.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life settles into a new normal in the days that follow Celeste's vet visit. Marigot tells him that the Feral Family (as the community of chatters and commenters call themselves) love the way Celeste has made herself at home with the Foodies (the Family's name for Bucky's litter); she also tells him that <em>he</em> is a hit with them, too.</p><p>Tony comes back to finish up his installation of his tech upgrades, explaining that the blocky case with the rod sticking up out of it that had to be installed with help from a backhoe was a Stark Satellite Internet Uplink Hub, specially designed for deployment in circumstances much less hospitable than those found around Jellybean House. (It also included a 45-minute TED Talk on the similarities between Alaska and far-Eastern Russia with a 20-minute sidebar into land survey techniques. Bucky got the gist of it, but was deeply glad he wouldn't be required to explain any of it to anyone else.) Tony also reminds Bucky that the new cameras he's given them have a built-in five second delay, so that the filtering AI he added can process and scramble into soft fuzz anything that the general public shouldn't hear.</p><p>"Because it's a pain in the ass to remember to mute the feed, and it frankly drives me up the wall when the audio cuts in and out unexpectedly. Plus it makes the chatters think they're having problems and it took me, like, five minutes to fix. It wasn't a big deal," Tony says.</p><p>Steve comes by as usual to feed and socialize with the ferals out in the woods, followed by a visit with Bucky, the kittens, and Celeste. They talk about almost anything and everything, Steve recounting in detail his visits to various museums ("Okay, here's a picture of the Hope diamond. See how big it looks? Everyone photographs it from about two inches away, so it looks like it's the size of my palm. It's actually about the size of your thumbnail. Maybe a little smaller. But the tourmaline is incredible, look at these <em>colors...</em>") while Bucky tells him all about the latest book he's found on the library shelves.</p><p>Bucky also fills out his assessment forms for Anikó, choosing to be as honest as he can when it comes to the answers. Some of the truth comes easily—his sleeping habits, his current methods of coping with his issues, the ways in which his issues affect his daily life. Other truths are harder, either because it's frightening to admit them or because he doesn't have the data that he'd like. Dates are particularly difficult to pin down, though Steve and the internet help a lot; for some problems he simply doesn't have the vocabulary.</p><p>When Steve offers to give him a copy of everything that the team had found relating to the Winter Soldier and the Winter Soldier program so that Bucky can give it to Anikó, he refuses. He doesn't know what's in the file, only that it's a list of the horrors visited on him, and he doesn't want her to see it. To live with it in her head, surfacing every time she speaks with him. <em>He</em> doesn't even want to look at it and it all happened to him. They agree to leave it for now, with the option to send her parts of it if and when it becomes necessary.</p><p>The Foodies keep growing, keep learning; they figure out how to escape again (fortunately without the added excitement of getting into inappropriately-stored leftovers). Bucky is alerted to their perimeter breach via a text from Natalia, but as they're being supervised by Celeste, he thanks her and keeps working on rearranging the attic. Since he's moved himself into the kitten room for the time being, he decided that there should be another room set up for a cat or cats just in case. One of the few items of furniture left in the smaller bedroom—the one from which he'd taken the bed and dresser—was a large wardrobe. He'd already moved the bedding inside it, and the clothing from the closet, into the other room, which left only the matter of finding a place to put the thing.</p><p>Bucky is just coming down from the attic, checking his phone for new messages from anyone, when he hears the front door bang open followed by footsteps that are moving at almost a run. He trades his phone for a knife and slinks toward the top of the stairs, only to be caught short by the sound of Steve's voice.</p><p>"Bucky! Buck—"</p><p>There's something about the the way that Steve's voice rings through the house that immediately has Bucky's hackles coming up. It's the urgency rather than the nickname that hooks into something that's been part of him for so long he doesn't know when he learned it, but it had to be before Hydra. He flips the knife in his hand into a more defensive position, then takes the stairs two at a time down to where Steve is standing in the front hall. He registers the way Steve is holding his hands up to his chest, fingers curved around something, but nothing else, really—he's too busy doing his best to suppress the anxiety caused by thoughts of invaders coming in and harming the cats, either on purpose or inadvertantly. "How many hostiles? Which direction? We'll make a stand outside, get them away from the house—"</p><p>"What? No—" Steve takes in the other man's stance and a deep breath. "No, Jay—uh, Bucky. No one is coming, not anyone who isn't supposed to be here." He lowers his hands, tilting them forward so that Bucky can see what he's holding. "I found this kitten while I was at the feeding station. I think it's a girl? She's so sick—"</p><p>"Kitten?" Bucky's focus narrows to Steve's hands. The kitten is black and white, small, bedraggled, eyes and nose crusted with God only knew what; her little mouth is open and her sides heave as she struggles for air. "Oh."</p><p>"I'll take her in to the clinic. I called before I brought her over, they're waiting," Steve says, tipping his head in the general direction of town and the clinic.</p><p>"Okay. You'll need a towel and a carrier." Bucky turns on his heel and heads for the supply room, knife returned to its sheath. He's already comparing the symptoms he'd seen with his memories of the <em>Troubleshooting</em> section of <em>KITTENS!</em>. Probably an Upper-Respiratory Infection, compounded by whatever parasites she might have picked up from her mother or— "Steve!"</p><p>"What?" Steve practically throws himself into the doorway at the call.</p><p>"Mother. Siblings. Any?" Bucky pulls a carrier out from under the counter and sets it on the floor in front of Steve's boots; he turns and opens the towel cabinet to retrieve whichever one was on top.</p><p>"Didn't see them, but I was distracted by her. One of us should call Marigot and let her know there's possibly an entire family of sick cats in the colony," Steve says, even as he nestles the kitten into the towel Bucky had dropped into the carrier. "I'll let you know what Dr Cho says as soon as I can."</p><p>"I'll call," Bucky says, reaching for his phone as Steve picked up the carrier. "Go."</p><p>Marigot answers on the second ring. "Hi, Jay?"</p><p>"Hello. Steve found a kitten at the feeding station that is very sick. He called the clinic and is taking her there now. He said he didn't see a mother or siblings, but he was not looking for them." He's not happy with his stilted delivery, but he <em>is</em> glad that he's not phrasing it as either a mission update or after-action report.</p><p>"Okay, wow. Well, about all I can do from here is call Mavis and a couple of our other trappers and let them know who we're looking for. What's the kitten look like?" She huffs out a breath, then says, "God, I'm so glad you two are on top of things, it's amazingly helpful. Can you make sure Iso's ready for her and anyone else we might nab?"</p><p>"She's black and white, black on her head and back, white on chest and toes. Front toes. Didn't see all of her." Bucky stands up a little straighter at the praise. "Yes, I can do that. It looked like she might have an URI, from what I remember reading."</p><p>"I hope that's all it is, since those are pretty easy to treat. Well, straightforward, anyway. Great, okay, thanks for the info. I'll let you go so you can take care of things." Marigot sounds somewhat distracted; it might be related to what sounds like construction noise in the background. "Take care."</p><p>"So do I," Bucky says. "Yes. You're welcome, you too." That done, he puts his phone into his hip pocket and goes to set up the isolation room for at least one sick little cat.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Mavis and another volunteer he hasn't met yet pull into the drive about half an hour later, then head out into the woods with their hands full of supplies. Steve texts him updates from the clinic, letting him know that they arrived safely and that they'd be seen when they could—it might be an hour or so. Bucky thanks him and goes in to spend time with Celeste and his kittens, trying to distract himself from what he can't do. He's in the middle of playtime with everyone when it occurs to him that he might not know how to trap cats, but he could <em>learn.</em> He hadn't known how to look after bottle-babies until he'd learned, after all. Mind made up, Bucky finds it much easier to concentrate on the cats in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Bucky (🐝 🐈), Marigot<br/>Sick kitten is very sick. URI, eye infections, probable parasites.<br/>Also very skinny, weighs almost half what she should at 8 weeks. <br/>Ate a LOT when we offered her food. Okay to go home. Back soon.</em>
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    <em>To: Steve, Kitten Wrangler<br/>Thx so much for this. Send pix when you can plz.<br/>I'll come see her tonite. </em>
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</p><p> </p><p>"What should we name her?" Steve says, when they've gotten some pictures of the kitten—she's looking somewhat better, as someone at the clinic had cleaned up her little face—and tucked her into a bed on top of a kitten-safe heating pad. Her breathing is still labored and she's asleep almost as soon as they put her down, but she doesn't seem any worse than when she arrived.</p><p>"I don't know. Something good. How did you find her?" Bucky says, carefully stroking the top of her head with a fingertip.</p><p>"I was setting out the food dishes and calling to the cats, letting everyone know that it was time to eat. I was behind the shelter, I don't know, ten feet? Fifteen? And I was watching where I was stepping because some of the cats blend in so well that even I miss them until they move, and she was just...right there. When I said hi to her, she sat up and tilted her head back, looking at me, and I could see how messy her face was. I didn't even think about it, I just reached out and picked her up." Steve frowns down at her, more for the memory than anything else. "She was floppy, like a doll. Like she'd given up. But when Alice gave her some gruel from a syringe, she swallowed it right down. And ate whatever she was offered whenever it was offered."</p><p>"Eating is a good sign," Bucky says. There's something about the little wheezy sounds that are familiar, almost comforting, despite also being a bad thing.</p><p>"That's what both Alice and Doctor Strange said—" Steve smiles as Bucky makes a face at him. "No, his name really is Strange. Dr Cho wasn't available because she was in surgery. Both Strange and Alice said that anything we can do to get food into her, we'll need to do. Even tube-feeding, which...I hope we don't have to. I watched one of the videos from Marigot where she was doing that, and I know it's not harmful, but it's... I don't think I can do it."</p><p>"Tube feeding," Bucky says, and immediately shuts that line of thought down <em>hard.</em> "If she won't... If she won't keep eating, from the syringe, then... Maybe. But we might have to have someone else do it." He's amazed that his voice is as steady as it is.</p><p>"Dr Strange said she'd probably only be awake long enough to eat and use the box, if she can get there. We might need to put her in it instead of letting her try walking, in case she falls asleep halfway," Steve says.</p><p>"Did he say how often to feed her?" Bucky suspects that he's looking at another string of three-hour feeds, and the idea is... He's comfortable with it. He knows what to expect, and since there's only one of her, it should be at least somewhat less time-consuming.</p><p>"Yes. I have a... Oh, here," Steve says, pulling a folded packet of papers from his hip pocket. "Discharge instructions, with everything we need to know. Her medications are out in my truck, I'll go get them while you read this." He hands the pages over before turning toward the door. "I'm going to wash my hands, first, and then I'll go get them."</p><p>"Thank you," Bucky says, already distracted by the information. He reads the pages through twice, making note of the suggestions of, yes, feeding her every three hours or so until she starts eating on her own, as well as the note to gently clean any discharge from her eyes and nose with gauze and warm water when it seems appropriate (and before applying medication, in the case of her eyes). The last page has a list of things to look out for on one side and the list of her medications with dosages and instructions on the other.</p><p>"Here," Steve says, as he comes back into the room. "None of it needs to be refrigerated, and she's had all of her first doses at the clinic. I think it's written down on there somewhere."</p><p>"Um... Yes, here, on the page with all of the drugs. I think she's taking more medication than you ever...did..." Bucky's face scrunches up as he trails off, looking at Steve. "You...took a lot of medicine?"</p><p>"I was sick a lot, yeah," Steve says, an odd expression on his face. "I don't know how effective some of the stuff I took actually was, though. Not a lot of antibiotics when I was a kid and you were helping my Ma look after me."</p><p>"I did that," Bucky says, and it feels right. He can't remember anything specific, but the familiarity is there. "That's... That's why it was—When I was looking after the kittens, feeding them, watching them. Marigot asked me if I'd done it before. I said I didn't know, because I don't remember a lot of things, but it was you. It was like looking after you."</p><p>"Yeah?" Steve looks pleased at that, at least until the kitten lifts her head and sneezes several times in a row. "Oh, you poor thing," he says to her, grabbing a piece of paper towel from the roll at the sink so they can clean up the astonishing amount of mucus that was now all over her face and part of the blanket she was lying on.</p><p>"Huh," Bucky says, taking the part of the towel that Steve handed him so he could wipe her nose, "yeah. I don't remember anything in particular, but this is definitely familiar."</p><p>"Ha," Steve says, his sour tone belied by his smile. "We still need to find a good name for her."</p><p>"You pick one," Bucky says, doing his best to make sure the kitten's nose was clear while she tried to escape his attentions. He lets her go as soon as he can, smiling as she turns around and burrows under the fleece blanket, leaving only a sliver of her back showing.</p><p>"Me? All right. Let me think about it for a minute." Steve holds his hand out for Bucky's paper towel, disposing of both pieces when Bucky hands it over. He washes his hands, dries them, then stays at the sink as he says, "What about, uh, Sarah?"</p><p>"Sarah..." Bucky considers it as he looks down at the tiny bump that the kitten made under her blanket. "Yes," he says, leaning over a little so he can gently pet her back, "hi, Sarah." </p><p>"Okay. Sarah it is." Steve takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out. "I'll, um, I'll put it on the board on the door."</p><p>"Thank you." He watches Steve leave, mildly puzzled by the man's behavior. When Steve comes back in, he says, "Sarah was...important. To you."</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah, she was."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"I'll be back tomorrow morning," Steve says, as he's getting ready to leave. "So you can get a break."</p><p>"Oh," Bucky says, surprised; he nods. "Thank you."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The night passes in chunks of sleep punctuated by feedings, much like one of his earliest nights with his kittens; unlike those nights, he's visited more by memories of the Foodies than of The Asset. When he puts Sarah in the litterbox after her 3 AM feeding, she poops for the first time and half-heartedly makes an attempt to cover it up. When Bucky leans over to pick her up, he realizes that there's a lot more to the lumps than digested food.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em>To: Marigot<br/>Sarah passed a LOT of dead worms.</em>
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    <em>To: Kitten Wrangler<br/>Picture please?</em>
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    <em>To: Marigot<br/>OK?<br/>[attachment: 20140604.jpg]</em>
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    <em>To: Kitten Wrangler<br/>WOW! That is amazing!</em>
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    <em>We like to post pictures of this kind of thing<br/>on our Rescue Realities page—shows people<br/>it's not all cute babies and fun.</em>
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    <em>To: Marigot<br/>Oh. That makes sense. </em>
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    <em>To: Kitten Wrangler<br/>The unofficial motto on that page is<br/>"come for the cute, stay for the poop talk!"</em>
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    <em>To: Marigot<br/>😕 🤔 😆<br/>Sure.</em>
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  <p><em>To: Kitten Wrangler</em><br/>😆 😆</p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Sarah eats at every feeding, somewhat mechanically at first but with growing enthusiasm as the day passes. She still doesn't seem interested in eating from a dish, but upon checking <em>TROUBLESHOOTING</em> it seems that it's probably related to the fact that her nose is still oozing mucus—cats that can't smell their food tend not to eat it. Steve and Bucky spend a fair amount of their time with her both wiping up after sneezes and washing their hands.</p><p>While Steve looks after Sarah, Bucky spends time with Celeste and the kittens. Celeste is as friendly and tolerant as ever, putting up with Bucky's gentle examination of her backside without doing more than twitching her tail and trying to walk away. The kittens are happy to see him, happy to play with whatever toys he offers them, and curious about a few spots on his shirt sleeves where food fell onto them.</p><p>Mavis and her fellow trappers manage to catch a couple of half-grown and basically healthy cats, who are sent off to the headquarters at Caboose colony for their intakes; check-ups and spaying or neutering will come after. One of the cats is a black-and-white tuxie, like Sarah, but is closer to being six months than eight weeks. It's possible that they're a half-sibling or a cousin, but either way they're not one of their targets. </p><p>The next night passes the same way, Sarah taking her medication without complaint and only squinting and turning her head away when it was time for him to treat her eyes. Steve returns the next morning, feeding everyone and straightening up while Bucky sleeps.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The third morning, Sarah sneezes twice, then practically faceplants into the dish of wet-food-and-formula gruel that Steve offers her. She gets food everywhere—on her face, on her feet, on the towel the bowl sits on, even on Steve's hand—and makes a series of snuffly snorting smacking sounds, but she's eating on her own.</p><p>Celeste and the kittens are fine, playing and washing one another. Steve is getting ready to go out to feed the colony cats when Mavis comes through the door and calls out.</p><p>"Hello, Jay? Steve?"</p><p>"Yes?" Steve says, emerging from the kitchen.</p><p>"Hey, great to see you. Brought you two cats, both adults, and I think one of them might be Sarah's mom. We haven't seen any sick kittens, but the property is pretty big. We're gonna keep looking." Mavis passes a covered transfer cage to Steve, then goes back to the porch for the other one, which she then carries into the Intake room.</p><p>Intake on the cats is not precisely routine, but it's not overly difficult. Chaundra, a pretty black-and-white tuxedo cat that does look an awful lot like Sarah, seems to be a mother cat in the last stages of weaning. She's also got goopy eyes, a snotty nose, and sneezes several times while they're working with her. Steve makes an appointment for her at Valley Vista Animal Hospital, then takes her into the isolation room to see if she and Sarah know one another.</p><p>Chaundra does not like humans. She refuses to come out of her cage until Steve partially opens the door to the nesting cabinet, at which point she darts into the space and curls up in the back corner, hissing at him when he leans over to check on her.</p><p>"I know, I'm big and scary. I'm sorry," Steve says, then reaches over and picks up Sarah (who is happily plowing her way through yet another serving of gruel). She squeaks as she's lifted, then stills when she's face to face with the adult version of herself.</p><p>The adult cat stretches forward, sniffing at the kitten; when Chaundra catches sight of Steve, she hisses and hunches up again.</p><p>Steve sighs and puts Sarah down on the blanket in front of Chaundra, hovering just out of sight so he can intervene if necessary.</p><p>Chaundra uncoils as soon as she's lost sight of the human, nosing at the kitten and then bathing her when the food is discovered. Sarah complains about getting washed, but pushes her way forward and starts trying to wriggle underneath the bigger cat; Chaundra shifts until she's mostly lying on her side, providing Sarah with access to most of her nipples.</p><p>Steve gets up, puts an entire large can of Queen and Kitten wet food into a bowl, then slides it in toward Chaundra. She growls at him and he smiles, then washes his hands before he heads back to the Intake room.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not sure if I should be worried about Sarah's siblings or not," Steve says while they're eating a late lunch with Celeste and the kittens. "If they're avoiding people, they're probably healthy, but if they're really sick maybe they're just hiding because they don't feel well."</p><p>"She might not have any," Bucky says, softly, like being quiet will cushion what he has to say next. "The book, the kitten book, it says... It says, um, for feral females, only... Only 25 percent of their litters survive. On average. So it might be, be too late."</p><p>"Only—Really?" Steve lowers both his plate and his fork to look at the other man. "So if she—if a mother has four kittens..."</p><p>"Yes," Bucky says. "There's so much danger outside, foxes and worms and cars and the cold, especially if a kitten gets wet... It's..." He shakes his head.</p><p>"Which is why it's so important to take care of these cats," Steve says, thoughtful, before he starts eating again. After a moment or two, he says, "But cats can have anywhere from one to eight or ten kittens, so it's possible that Sarah doesn't have siblings because she was an only child. Kitten."</p><p>"That's true," Bucky says, nodding at him. "Not that it will stop Mavis and Kate from looking for them, because we don't know."</p><p>"And there's no way to tell how many kittens were born if you only have the mother," Steve says.</p><p>"Right."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Ringworm is actually incredibly contagious. In reality, EVERYONE (except Steve and Bucky) would probably have ringworm by the time they figured out that Sarah has it. This is fiction and we can pretend that this is a not-terribly-virulent strain of fungus.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A new normal is created: Steve arrives every morning to help with the Foodies and Celeste, then spends time with Sarah (who happily curls up to sleep on him) and Chaundra (who still hisses at him, but grudgingly eats food from an extended finger and keeps an eye on him from the nest as he cuddles the kitten). Bucky divides his time between Iso and the kitten room, too, reading to Sarah and Chaundra as he does the Foodies and Celeste. Mavis and Kate never do find any cats that might be Sarah's littermates, but they do manage to catch a few more Jellybeans that need to be spayed and neutered, so they call it even.</p><p>One evening, a little more than a week after Steve found Sarah, Bucky and Steve are having dinner in the library so that Celeste can't climb into their laps and inspect their plates.</p><p>"...then she said, she said that people are really really good at surviving, and our brains will adapt to a traumatic situation in order to give us the best chance to get through it without dying. So when, because this happens to people who spend a lot of time in combat zones, so when your brain hears what sounds like a gunshot or explosion, your brain makes you react in a way that's most likely to keep you safe. Like taking cover, or dragging strangers with you to cover. The disorderly part is when it's happening in a place that's actually safe, like at the grocery store or something. And it's not—you're not <em>broken,</em> or wrong, it's just... Brains like to hold onto the stuff that keeps you safe, so it's hard to teach it to let go of those things," Bucky says, gesturing at his head with the end of his pizza crust.</p><p>"That makes sense, but what about the other stuff? Nightmares, and panic attacks?" Steve says, forehead all wrinkly in thought. "Those aren't helpful."</p><p>"No. Well, not when you're somewhere that's supposed to be safe. Like here. I got used to the creaking and snapping and popping of the house, once I figured out that's what it was, but when I was trying to sleep upstairs and the kittens were downstairs, I couldn't. All I could focus on was that I couldn't <em>hear</em> them, wouldn't be able to hear them if they needed me, and then all the familiar noises started sounding like someone trying to break in..." Bucky shakes his head and jerks his thumb in the direction of the room across the hall. "And I couldn't sleep 'til I moved my bed in there with them. Now I'm back to the normal stuff keeping me awake."</p><p>"Right," Steve says, slowly, still thinking as he pulls another couple of slices of pizza from the box on the coffee table. "So did Anikó say how you can fix it?"</p><p>Bucky hums around his last mouthful of crust, swallowing it before he says, "Not like you can 'fix' a URI or worms, no. But there's things, techniques, you can learn. Ways to remember that you're safe. So that's what I'm going to have to do."</p><p>"Huh," Steve says, "okay. That's... That's great."</p><p>"You could read the books she sent me," Bucky says, taking another couple of slices for himself. "I have electronic copies."</p><p>"I don't know," Steve says, his thoughtful wrinkles sliding into what were probably concerned wrinkles. "I wouldn't want to..."</p><p>"If you want," Bucky says, shrugging.</p><p>Steve takes another bite of pizza, chewing deliberately, before he says, "I think... I think if I were going to read them, maybe... I should do it while, um. You know. Talking to someone. Like Anikó."</p><p>"Mm," Bucky says, around a bite of his own. "That could be a good idea."</p><p>"It's been..." Steve huffs out a breath. "It's been...hard. Thinking about...this kind of thing. But the longer I'm out here, just... Just here, with the cats, and you, it's..." His shoulders hunch up and he curls in on himself, his voice just above a whisper. "I used to think all I'd ever be good for is the fight."</p><p>"Me too," Bucky says, then dares to lean over and bump his shoulder against Steve's. "Then some asshole left a box of baby cats on the porch of the house I'd broken into."</p><p>"I... I've been thinking," Steve says, just as quietly as he'd made his last statement. "About... About maybe...stepping back. From being the, being Captain America."</p><p>"Yeah?" Bucky smiles at that. "Gonna be Captain Feral instead?"</p><p>Steve laughs, his forehead smoothing out as the corners of his eyes crinkle up. "I could. Then I could hiss at reporters when they come up to me on the street."</p><p>"Or run and hide from them," Bucky says.</p><p>"That too."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>As has been the case the entire time Bucky has been living at Jellybean House, the new normal doesn't last very long. The morning after Steve's confession over pizza starts with the discovery that Sarah has ringworm and the Foodies have learned to escape again. (<em>KITTENS! </em>says learning to escape is good for both their brains and their bodies, so caretakers should build in at least one not-too-obvious escape route when expanding the nest area.) Midmorning is complicated by the arrival of Marigot and adoption applications to review—the Foodies are in the middle of their sixth week and still steadily working toward the thousand-gram mark—and Steve getting called away for a mission in Nebraska that needs all Avengers on deck. <em>I think it's giant grasshoppers,</em> Steve's text says. <em>About the most information I got from Tony was that it was time to assemble. 🦗? 🐛? 🦠? 🥓? 🎯<br/></em></p><p>As they work through the packets that Marigot had printed, Bucky has to keep reminding himself that he can't just reject everyone that's applied to adopt one or more kitten on the grounds of 'I want to keep them all'. He's thrilled when he comes across one that's an easy rejection, though. "I think this—Oh, no, it says right here that they're twelve and they haven't asked but their mom can definitely pay the fee," he says, turning the page around to show Marigot.</p><p>"Yeah, that's a no," she says, glancing at the text. "I mean, we've accepted a very few applications from kids in the past, but one was from a sixteen-year-old guy who'd volunteered over at Headquarters for a couple of summers. Another one was a twelve-year-old girl who wanted to be a vet when she grew up. She and her family also had a dog and had had a couple of cats, both of whom lived into their late teens. Both kids had diligently saved up some money for the fee, although I think the girl split hers with her parents."</p><p>"Do you ever tell anyone why you say no?" Bucky says, putting the application into the rejection pile and picking up another.</p><p>"No. We can get hundreds of applications per litter, so it'd take up a lot of time to write each applicant back and explain that no, you're not getting one or more living creatures to take care of because we can't understand why you would punctuate the... Sentence? I guess? Of 'U cant tel me wut 2 do wif my kat ill dklaw dem if I wunt' with ell-oh-ell." Marigot takes the time to spell out each of the 'words'.</p><p>"I... I don't know, either." What a bewildering world the 21<sup>st</sup> century was.</p><p>"I mean, I know <em>I</em> use a fair amount of texting shorthand, like thx and 2, and sometimes emoji instead of words, but that's <em>texting</em>. If I'm applying for a grant or something, I'm polite and make sure my reader can understand what I'm getting at."</p><p>"And I'm—well, I'm new to texting. But I can figure it out, usually, when you text me," Bucky says, skimming the first page of the application he's holding. Local address, local number, local vet's office— "Oh, this person lists Valley Vista as their vet, or the vet they'd use."</p><p>"That's cool," she says. "What's the name?"</p><p>"It's Petra Barlow."</p><p>"Oh, she's adopted one of our cats before. Go ahead and put that in our 'most likely' pile," Marigot says.</p><p>"Hm," Bucky says, putting the application on top of one other one on the far side of the counter, somewhat mollified by the idea that one or more of his kittens might go to someone who had already proven themselves.</p><p>"That's one of the criteria that gets you moved into the shorter short-list," Marigot says, dropping the application she'd been looking at into the reject pile. "Unlike telling us that if your cat insists on sharpening its claws on your furniture you'd look into getting rid of it. I'm assuming they mean the cat, not the couch or whatever."</p><p>"There's... There's ways to fix it. Unless no one repairs anything? I have... I kind of remember fixing a lot of things, when I was a kid." He frowns, trying to get more than just a vague impression of needle and thread and maybe a sock.</p><p>"Oh, yeah, there's all kinds of things you can do, for the cat and the couch. The most basic thing is to just, you know, clip the cat's claws on a regular basis. Or you can use a squirt bottle with some water in it to harmlessly startle the cat when they start to scratch, you can put sticky tape things on the furniture—the cats don't like the way their feet stick, so they leave it alone—you can definitely repair the upholstry, or find someone to do it for you, get a good scratching post and pick the cat up and take 'em over to the post when they start to scratch, and that's just what I can think of right now. None of it hurts the cat or requires the cat to leave your house."</p><p>"Those sound...easy," he says, now frowning at how simple the solutions seem.</p><p>Marigot gives him a wry little smile. "I think your scale of what's difficult might be calibrated just a <em>little</em> differently than most other people's," she says, but her voice is warm.</p><p>Bucky is surprised to find himself enjoying the gentle teasing. "You're probably right," he says, and picks up another application.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>After lunch with Celeste and the Foodies, Bucky goes to visit with Sarah and Chaundra. He cleans the litter boxes, refills their food dishes (Chaundra hisses at him when he returns her full dish; Sarah eagerly dives in), then settles down and reads to them from <em>The Planet We Live On</em>. In the middle of reading the entry on Feldspar, his phone rings.</p><p>"Hello?"</p><p>"Hi, Jay, this is Kate. I'm on my way back to the house and I've got Branwen with me. I have been trying to catch her for, like, I dunno... Six months? Eight? Four hundred and seventy-three? Okay, more like six. Anyway, I'm bringing her to you."</p><p>"Hi," he says, then, when she's done, "okay. I have to do decontamination procedures before I can look at her."</p><p>"That's fine. I literally <em>just</em> caught her, like, five minutes ago. It'll probably take me... five or so minutes to get to the house? Maybe as much as ten? I have a key, so I can let myself in. I'll hang with her in intake 'til you're ready."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, again, closing the book and setting it aside. "See you soon."</p><p>"Yeah, see you. Bye!"</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Branwen is black with a pristine white locket at the base of her throat and does <em>not</em> want to be handled, making her intake a little more fraught than usual. She does seem to have a belly full of something, not that Bucky can determine exactly what it is. She's a little too wriggly for him to keep the stethoscope in place long enough to hear heartbeats, so he gives up and resigns himself to waiting until she can be seen at the clinic.</p><p>Once he's got her form filled out, he takes her upstairs to the new cat room. Bucky leaves the door to the cage open while he goes next door to the general storage room to grab some food and litter for her; Branwen is peeking out of the cat-door in the front of the nesting cabinet when he returns.</p><p>"Hi, sweetheart," he says, ignoring the way she growls and disappears back into the cabinet. It's not at all personal—she'd have the same reaction to Steve or Kate or Marigot—so he's not concerned. He fills up a bowl with dry Queen and Kitten kibbles, another with a small can of the same wet food, and a third with fresh water. The kibble and water he sets farthest from the litter box; the wet food he delivers straight to the nest. "I know it's scary right now, but you're okay. And you can eat as much as you want. No one will take it away from you."</p><p>Branwen growls at him throughout his reassurances, but a few seconds after he vanishes from her line of sight, he can hear her eating.</p><p>"Good girl," he says, then heads back to the storage room for some toys. Once the toys have been distributed around the room, he connects the cameras to the household network—one of the benefits to Stark's tech tune-up was that Feral to Family now had the ability to show the feed from all three cat-related rooms at Jellybean House—and after that it's back downstairs to use his computer to check on the camera placement.</p><p>The nest cameras look good. (Branwen is the only one actually in a nest—she's still working her way through the food Bucky had given her); as for the room cameras, they're fine, too. Sarah and Chaundra are asleep on a blanket in front of their cabinet; Celeste is crouched in a loaf in front of <em>her</em> cabinet; the Foodies are up and about. He watches them for a bit, shaking his head as Knish rolls Dolmades over into a ball that has a bunch of ribbons on the top—it has a battery-powered motor that spins the ribbons at unpredictable-to-kittens intervals. The ribbons begin whirling and Dolmades scrambles away; Basil comes over to bat and bite at them. Piroshki follows her sister, but instead of playing with the ribbons alongside Basil she bites at Basil's tail. Knish decides to get in on the action, too, and flops himself over Piroshki. Pebble, meanwhile, is stretched out in their bed, fast asleep.</p><p>Bucky sets up the live stream for Branwen, sends a message to the channel mods about it so they can announce it, then closes his laptop so he can go over his checklist for the day. He technically doesn't need one (his other memory problems aside, he's very good at retaining information), but there's something satisfying about seeing a physical representation of his progress. Looking over the chart reminds him that he hasn't filed the intake form for Branwen nor called the clinic, so he ticks off what he has accomplished before he goes to do that. Appointment made, he writes it down in the usual places, texts Marigot about everything, checks more things off his list, checks the time, and realizes that aside from lunch and about ten minutes of sitting with Sarah and Chaundra, he's been going all day.</p><p>It's...good. He's accomplished a lot, and he's done good, necessary things. He's added to the plus column of the world, and while it's maybe a few thousandths of a percent toward balancing out what he'd done—been <em>made</em> to do—as The Asset, it's better than nothing. And with that happy thought, he decides to go take a nap.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Anything exciting happen with the cats, today?" Steve's voice is warm in Bucky's ear, the following evening; it sounds like he's smiling.</p><p>"Not really. The kittens were ridiculous, Celeste is still pregnant—Oh," Bucky says, "I did take Branwen in and Dr Cho did an ultrasound. She's pregnant, too, probably around a couple weeks out from her due date."</p><p>"Congratulations?" Steve makes a soft amused sound. "Wow. So Celeste is due really soon, and then Branwen, and you still have a few weeks with your original kittens, and then there's Sarah and Chaundra—How are they?"</p><p>"I know, it's... It's amazing. A lot of work, but amazing work." He thinks he should be more nervous about being alone with two prenatal cats and a handful of babies, but he just feels... Braced, perhaps. Reinforced? He knows he has backup, which is always helpful. "Chaundra's still not happy to see me, but she's taken to staying put and growling instead of running away. Sarah's breathing sounds better, and she even stayed awake for a little while longer after dinner than she did at breakfast."</p><p>"Yes, it is, and good. Good, I'm glad she's feeling better." Steve is quiet for a few seconds, then says, "I miss you guys."</p><p>"We miss you, too," Bucky says, feeling a little strange as he does. Since he can't put a name to the reason for it, he ignores it. "What was happening in Nebraska?"</p><p>"Ugh," Steve groans. There's a noise on the other end like someone dropping a bunch of laundry and then, slightly muffled, he continues with, "Giant grasshoppers. They're about the size of a dog, kind of... Up to your knee? Maybe a little taller? And they bite everything to see if it's edible. If it feels edible at first, then they keep chewing at it until they figure out it's not to eat, and if it <em>is</em> edible, they make it vanish like... Like... Like Dugan vanished Spam sandwiches."</p><p>Bucky grabs his laptop so he can look up grasshoppers while Steve describes them. "Wow, that sounds like fun," he says, dryly, wrinkling his nose at the pictures that have come up on his screen. "How many were there?"</p><p>"About fifty," Steve says, sounding less muffled. "And they're insects, so they have an exoskeleton. It was like trying to get through Tony's suit. It was so... At least it was an accident. Some scientist was trying to do something...sciencey. I'm not stupid, it was just a lot of unfamiliar words and she and Tony were talking a mile a minute, a mile a half-minute, and now I'm tired and it's all just one big blob of nano-mush."</p><p>"She accidentally made dog-sized grasshoppers?"</p><p>"She was trying to... I think she was either trying to make plants have bigger fruit or grains or whatever they make, or make plants produce <em>more</em> of whatever they make. The grasshoppers were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tony was impressed, though."</p><p>"Well, at least she wasn't trying to take over the world," Bucky says.</p><p>Steve laughs a little. "Yeah, I was grateful. Giant grasshoppers wouldn't be the best choice for that, because they're not—you can't train them. They're big enough they could definitely hurt someone, maybe even kill them, but mostly what they wanted to do was find food and get away from us when we tried to approach them. Other than unleashing them on the local food supply, they're not a very compelling threat." He lowers his voice and puts on a strange accent, sort of half-Irish, half-French. "Ha ha ha, I have come to take over your country! Make me your leader or I will send my grasshoppers to eat everythi—They are flying away. Where are they going? No, wait, I am still very dangerous!"</p><p>Bucky finds himself laughing out loud for the first time since he'd watched his kittens play with his leftovers. "Still very—" He wheezes softly, caught up in his amusement.</p><p>"You cannot arrest me, I am Gerald, King of the Grasshop—No—I'm going to call my cousin Connie, lawyer and Centipede Queen! You'll be sorry!" And now Steve is laughing, too, his accent sliding away at the end of his rant.</p><p>Celeste heaves herself up and pads over to Bucky, rubbing her face against his shin as he calms down.</p><p>"Oh, hi, dollface," Bucky says to her, still smiling as he leans down to pet her. To Steve, he says, "I would definitely be concerned about a lawyer with centipedes."</p><p>"Me too," Steve says, "did Celeste come over to see you?"</p><p>"Yeah," Bucky says, skritching her chin. "She heard me laughing."</p><p>"It's good to hear you laugh," Steve says. "I've missed it."</p><p>Bucky dithers over what to say to that—he's not sure what it's making him feel, even if he recognizes it as the same feeling from earlier—and ends up staying silent.</p><p>"I... I didn't mean—" Steve huffs, all the amusement gone from his voice. "I'm sorry if that was...weird."</p><p>Bucky shrugs, stretching his legs out so Celeste can clamber up them to curl up on his lap. "It's not any weirder than anything else. I just wish that... That some things were clearer. In my head." He's quiet for a second or two, then adds, "We had a lot of jokes, right?"</p><p>"We had some inside jokes, yeah," Steve says. His voice is soft, his tone a little distracted. "I think... I think we're both so different, now, that even if most of them made any sense today, they still wouldn't quite be the same. So... It's okay, if you don't remember any of them."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, just as quietly. Celeste is heavy, purring and warm on his legs, under his hand.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Since the Foodies are going to be going to new homes in the near-ish future, I think it's time to do a couple of things," Marigot says, as she and Bucky are visiting with Sarah and Chaundra.</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, doing his best to remind himself that adoptions are an important part of what Feral to Family does and if he keeps all of the kittens there won't be room for more... And there will <em>always</em> be more. "What are they?"</p><p>"First, field trips to other rooms—the library, the adoption room, the big bathroom upstairs. You'll need to keep the toilet lid closed most of the time, though, because there's always <em>one</em> kitten in a litter that just has to explore the potty by engaging in a thorough paws-on investigation," Marigot says, exasperated and fond at the same time. "And then at least you and the kitten end up wet. The other thing is that I think we should put them upstairs where Branwen is and bring Branwen down here."</p><p>"Explore—Oh," Bucky says with a soft laugh. "Oops. Okay, I can do that, sure. Why switch rooms, though?" The idea has his stomach twisting, a little, since if he wasn't nearby how could he hear them if there was something wrong? They weren't helpless, not by any means, but it was hard to shake the protectiveness that they'd sparked in him.</p><p>Marigot takes a breath, then says, "It's not really any easier if you start getting used to not being around them all day every day, but it's a start. And I have another dozen or so applications to go over, today, if you're willing to look at some of them."</p><p>That...was sensible. It was still making panic and anger and general unhappiness slosh around inside him—in his stomach, up and down his spine, the back of his head—but it was sensible. "Yeah, okay. And I can look at the applications, too."</p><p>"Great, thanks. We're getting down to the last of them, so I think we'll be able to start making decisions soon. Maybe in a few days, but maybe not." Marigot heaves a sigh, suddenly, then stretches and makes an amused noise. "God, I'm so damn glad that everything has been so quiet over here. Other than Sarah and Chaundra's issues, everyone's been perfectly healthy, which is a blessing. We've got the three ringworm cases, three litters of kittens, two of which and I mean the entire litter have had tummy troubles—one came back positive for giardia, of all things, and figuring out where <em>that</em> came from is probably going to be impossible—we've done four dentals in the last couple of weeks, which means we've got four very unhappy cats with sore mouths who all want to go home right <em>now</em> and continuously sing the song of their people... And that's just at Caboose. At B-Garden, it's slightly less of a circus but not by much."</p><p>"Wow. That is..." Bucky blinked a couple of times. "I was going to ask if you'd cut back on visits for some reason. I'd noticed that Carl and Ree and Jane and Darcy hadn't been by as often, either."</p><p>"Yeah, we've been goin' with our tongues down to our shoetops, as my granddad used to say." Marigot smiles at him. "Seriously, though, you've been a huge help, just by being here. Not having to run back and forth between the madness at Caboose and here has made a huge difference."</p><p>"I'm... I'm happy to help," he says, feeling his face go warm at her words. "Steve is, too, when he's here."</p><p>"You know, sometimes I look at you two and wonder how I got to this strange place in my life, where these buff dudes are using their muscles for cats."</p><p>"They're important," Bucky says, his bashfulness gone in an instant. "I—These cats, what you do, they're—I'm—I'm a <em>person</em>. I know that. But I'm kind of one of these cats, too, and you could have... You could have done what everyone else would have done. When you caught me. You caught me, and instead of, of, of putting me down, you gave me a chance. I like cats anyway, and that just makes them...more important."</p><p>"Oh—" Marigot starts, then closes her mouth as he continues.</p><p>"And, and if their lives are worth...something, if they're valuable just, just for themselves..." He takes a deep breath, lets it out again, voice falling to a whisper. "Maybe mine is, too."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The Foodies take to their new room with their usual aplomb—which is to say that after some tentative exploration to make sure nothing would eat them, they race around like they'd never seen open space before.</p><p>Introducing Branwen to Celeste went slightly less well, with some hissing and suspicious looks between the cats. As soon as Bucky's sure they're not going to get into a fight with one another, he leaves them to get used to one another and heads to Isolation to spend time with Sarah and Chaundra. He does pull up the feed for the room where Branwen and Celeste are on his phone, however, and keeps an eye on it while he reads about lunar geology.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>And so it goes, for another few days—Visits from and with Steve; Bucky splitting his time between the three rooms; medication and cleaning and laundry. Branwen and Celeste become much friendlier with one another as the days pass, often sharing food dishes or curling up together on the same fleece blanket. Celeste is as loving and cuddly as ever, possibly moreso, as if she's trying to show her roommate that humans aren't so bad, really!</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The morning of the day that Sarah gets her first ringworm bath—a delightful concoction of lime and sulfur that stains things an orange-ish yellow—is also the day that Marigot brings over the final candidates for adoption. Bucky manages to stay calm, at least on the outside, while she goes over the points that had gained them the favor of most of the staff of Feral to Family. He <em>is</em> glad to see that the person who'd adopted from FtF before had been approved—and they'd asked for Pebble. It's still a draining discussion, and he's grateful when Marigot leaves him to his routine.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter:<br/>- Non-graphic description of a pregnant cat showing signs of labor<br/>- Bucky has some mission-failure-related panic issues and reverts to a more Winter Soldier-typical mindset for a little bit<br/>- Non-graphic description of pregnant cat and her kittens in peril<br/>- Non-graphic description of Cesarean section<br/>- Description of kittens being revived<br/>- Non-graphic description of the remains of a non-viable kitten (this is as graphic as that gets)<br/>- Steve gives Bucky an order to help break him out of an episode of hypervigilance</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Bucky comes in to refill food dishes and check on the girls, Celeste is restless. She lies down for a few minutes, then gets up and moves to a new spot, a new position. Branwen, as usual, hisses at him and then watches him warily from where she's 'hiding' in the bottom of the shelves.</p><p>"What's the matter, beautiful?" Bucky asks Celeste, skritching her chin and letting Branwen be invisible. "Those kittens making life difficult? Sooner you have 'em the sooner you're done with this forever."</p><p>Celeste makes a grumpy noise at him, shoves herself up into a sitting position, then stalks off to clamber into her nest-box.</p><p>"Good girl," he calls after her, getting up as well; he goes to watch her on the video feed management software on his laptop. According to <em>KITTENS!</em>, nesting was a good sign, as was the restlessness—classic symptoms of impending labor. Bucky hopes she's getting ready for the birth of her kittens, since as far as Dr Cho could tell Celeste was now somewhere in the neighborhood of 'right on time' and 'overdue'. Not by much, just a couple of days, but between Celeste's likely age and probable number of previous litters it was mildly concerning.</p><p>Inside the nest-box, Celeste has dug up a corner of the top blanket and wriggled underneath it, leaving only part of her face exposed.</p><p>"Good, good," Bucky murmurs, excitement spiking his heart rate for a moment or two. His first litter! Well, technically second, but first where he'd actually gotten to know their mother beforehand instead of replacing her wholesale.</p><p>Two minutes later, however, Celeste is out of the nest-box and digging furiously in her litter pan.</p><p>"Not now, huh," Bucky says, closing his laptop.</p><p>"Mrrr," Celeste says, turning in a circle once, twice, before she tries settling into the crouch common to cats relieving themselves. Nothing happens for a few seconds, so she turns and starts digging in another area.</p><p>"I know, sweetheart," he says, sitting down near the nest-box with his legs folded. "I know, it's no fun. Not too much longer and it'll all be over, right? You'll feel so much better when you've got them safe in your nest." He watches her fling litter over the edge of the pan and shakes his head. "I... I needed safety. Didn't know I'd find it here."</p><p>"Mmmnah," Celeste grumps, hopping out of the litter box. She walks over to where Bucky is and flops down onto the fleece blanket between him and the nest-box, then sighs loudly.</p><p>"You're lucky you were found in a bush, weren't you, dollface?" Bucky leans forward and pets her, long slow passes of his hand over her side interspersed with belly rubs. "Yeah. And I was lucky I got found here, too. We both have good people around us, now, don't we?" His hand slows as he carefully pets between her ears.</p><p>Celeste, purring now, shoves her head up into Bucky's hand as a clear signal to be a little more enthusiastic with his attentions.</p><p>Bucky smiles at her, rubbing around the base of her ears and then skritching her chin again. "Sometimes I feel like hiding in the bushes, y'know? It sounds easier, living out in the woods by myself. It's not, though. Not for me, not for cats. You're real lucky, pretty girl, 'cause your kittens are gonna be safe and happy and healthy, and they'll all grow up to look as good as you."</p><p>The rest of the day passes as normally as ever, even with Bucky checking on Celeste every hour or so. Steve, just back from a visit to a children's hospital in Tennessee, eats dinner with Bucky and the girls. Well, sort of; Branwen glares and slinks around the perimeter of the room while Celeste circles the two humans and pats hopefully at their shins, looking for a handout. (Bucky had prepared for this and they offer her kibble every time she begs. Celeste looks disappointed that it's not people food, then eats it anyway.) After Steve goes home, Bucky does his end-of-day chores and settles in for a long night of waiting and watching.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>It's going on midnight when Bucky makes the call to Dr Cho.</p><p>"Yeah. Cho."</p><p>"It's Jay. Barr. With Feral to Family—"</p><p>"Yeah," Cho says, sounding more awake now. "What's happening with Celeste?"</p><p>Conflicting impulses are clashing in Bucky's head; he feels as if he's in the middle of a failing mission, that admitting that he and Celeste need help will bring punishment because he couldn't keep it together while simultaneously <em>knowing</em> that something is wrong and he doesn't have the expertise to help Celeste the way she needs.</p><p>"Jay? What's going on?"</p><p>The sharper words and the alias get through; he's vaguely horrified to hear himself begin to report as if she were a handler. "At approximately 2140 feline Celeste began leaving smears of blood on furnishings when sitting. Amount of blood lost approximately 2 to 3 mils. Possibly as much as 5 mils. Blood adulterated with clearish fluid. Three contractions observed between 1937 and 2204. Nesting behavior observed once, feline Celeste hid under blanket for approximately 1.37 minutes. Feline Celeste washes face, feet, belly constantly. Very restless. Feline Celeste vocalising regularly, possibly in distress. Feline Branwen appears agitated by feline Celeste's vocalisations."</p><p>There's a brief silence as Cho digests the information. "Okay. I'm going to get dressed and make some calls. You get Celeste into a carrier and down to the clinic as soon as you can, all right? If you want to bring someone, Marigot or Ree or Carl or whoever, that'd be good. We're going to need plenty of hands for this one, I think."</p><p>"Affirmative," Bucky says, nodding once. The orders are reassuring, the brisk tone familiar and not at all unwelcome.</p><p>"Great. See you soon."</p><p>As soon as the call disconnects, Bucky finds his thumb moving to another contact without much thought.</p><p>"H'lo?"</p><p>"Steve," Bucky says; further words stick in his throat.</p><p>"Bucky," Steve says, "hey, you okay?"</p><p>"Celeste," Bucky says, "Clinic. Now."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says, "okay, do you—"</p><p>"Need transportation," Bucky says, and it's rude, he knows it is, but he's caught between The Asset and his usual self and he's not sure how to get free.</p><p>"I'll be there in ten," Steve says, over the soft sounds of cloth. "She'll be okay."</p><p>"Affirmative," Bucky says, and ends the call.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Steve makes it to the end of the driveway in six minutes. He looks Bucky over as the other man pushes Celeste's carrier across the bench seat of the pickup Nat had pointed him toward. "You all right?"</p><p>"Functional," Bucky says, settling into his seat and pulling the seatbelt across his body. "Celeste is not giving birth despite all signs indicating readiness for parturition."</p><p>"And the clinic's open this time of night?" Steve checks the mirrors before he points the truck in the direction of town and accelerates.</p><p>"Will be. Called Cho." Bucky fixes his gaze on the cat inside the carrier, suddenly wishing he could hold her in his arms. It might not help her, but he thinks it would make him feel better.</p><p>"Okay. Good," Steve says, ignoring the speed limit. The truck responds to him almost as if it can read his mind; the smallest nudge of the wheel putting them on the straightest lines through the corners. "Is there anything I can do?"</p><p>Bucky flexes his right hand against his knee, licks his lips. Finally, he manages, "Stay."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>Steve cuts the trip to the clinic in half, taking advantage of the hour and its attendant lack of traffic to get them through intersections without bothering to look at the lights.</p><p>Once there, Bucky follows Alice—the pink-haired technician he's met before—into to the back, through an open area with big metal sinks with grates over top, medical supplies lined up neatly on worktops, a wall of kennels with a few animals staying overnight. The smells aren't as familiar, but they're close enough—disinfectants over the faintest lingering traces of blood and other things—that he feels himself unravel a little more. His knuckles are white around the handle of Celeste's carrier, which might be warping from the strength of his grip.</p><p>"Jay, good," Dr Cho says, nodding at him. "And... you are?"</p><p>"Steve," Steve says, nodding at her. "We've brought your patient."</p><p>"Steve, great. Let's get her out of the crate so we can start prepping her for surgery."</p><p>"Surgery—" Bucky stops walking, bringing the crate up to his chest so he can put his arms around it. The word conjures up memories—and why could he only remember the bad things, the horror and the pain and the fear?—of straps and indifference to his screams. He can't—won't—give Celeste up to that. "No—"</p><p>"You said she hasn't had any contractions, or at least nothing productive," Cho says, frowning at Bucky. "If she's not getting on with things, then a C-section is the only way she survives, and if we're lucky her kittens too."</p><p>"She'll be unconscious," Steve says, gently, glancing at the doctor for confirmation.</p><p>"Absolutely," Cho says. "There are few procedures we do without some kind of anesthetic, and major surgery is <em>not</em> one of them. We need to get moving, though, because every minute she's still pregnant is a minute closer to losing her and her babies. You'll be right beside her, because we're going need you and Steve to help."</p><p>"I don't know anything about surgical procedures," Steve says.</p><p>"With the kittens. Alice will explain in a minute. First things first, we need to get a weight on Celeste so we can give her the initial dose of anesthetic."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Surgical prep for them consisted of scrubbing their hands halfway up their forearms and then putting on masks and gloves; for Celeste, it was a moment of restraint for an injection, then a patch shaved into her foreleg for an IV, her belly shaved and disinfected, being settled on her back on a strange pillow, and finally intubation and being covered with sterile drapes from the surgical kit.</p><p>"All right, everyone, here we go," Dr Cho says as she makes sure her blade is set firmly in her scalpel handle. "Making the first incision...now." </p><p>Some minutes later, Cho says, "Okay, here's number one," and hands off a tiny soggy lump to Todd, another technician. "Alice, where are you?"</p><p>"Right here," Alice says, stepping up to the table, a piece of a towel draped over her outstretched hands.</p><p>"Number two," Cho says, dropping a second blob into the waiting cloth. "Jay, Steve?"</p><p>"Here," Steve says, taking Alice's place; Bucky is right beside him.</p><p>"Three..." Cho says, setting the corresponding kitten into Steve's hands; she looks down, concentration wrinkling her brow. She makes another small incision with her scalpel, then switches to a pair of very sharp scissors. A moment later, she's clamped off the umbilical cord for the fourth kitten and cuts it free of the placenta before she lifts the kitten up and gives it to Bucky. "And number four."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, moving away from the table. Steve's right there, at his elbow, hands gently chafing the little mite between two pieces of fabric. Bucky follows suit, remembering both Alice's instructions and those from <em>KITTENS!</em>: short strokes, firm enough to muss fur but not too hard. The idea is to simulate mama's tongue, to stimulate breathing and circulation.</p><p>"Here's a syringe," Todd says, handing Steve a blue bulb with a hollow tube; Steve recognizes the shape of it if not the color from his childhood. "You'll have to pry open their mouths, real careful, then put the end of it down into the back of their mouth. You wanna get the fluids out so they can breathe."</p><p>"Right," Steve says, taking the syringe. There's fear in the pit of his stomach, at the back of his throat, reminding him of his search for Bucky in Kreischberg. <em>What if what if what if</em> pounds in time with his pulse but he does his best to ignore it, just as he had in Austria.</p><p>Their mouths are so damned <em>tiny</em> that Steve can't imagine he'll do anything <em>but</em> hurt them, so he looks over to where Alice and Todd are working on the first two kittens. Alice gently works the tip of her finger between the kitten's lips, the size of it enough to hold its jaw open for the tip of the syringe. A soft slurping sound and then Alice is back to rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, her head bowed over the little body as she murmurs encouragement.</p><p>"Steve," Bucky says, hand held out. "Syringe."</p><p>"Yeah, here," Steve says and gives it to him.</p><p>Precision, hard-learned and kept razor-sharp, serves Bucky well now. He uses the least pressure he can, deftly suctions fluid from an airway smaller than his smallest finger, then continues to move the towel briskly over the kitten's sides.</p><p>"Oh," Cho says, moments later, the tone of the word drawing almost everyone's attention.</p><p>"What?" Bucky says, taking two large steps toward the doctor; he half-fears, half-readies himself for violence.</p><p>"We were expecting five kittens," she says, nodding at the neonate in Bucky's hands. "But we only have four. Something must have happened to the fifth—it looks like Celeste started to resorb it." She lifts her right hand, displaying a small form that looks only vaguely kitten-shaped.</p><p>"Resorb?"</p><p>Dr Cho sets the form aside, gentle and respectful. "If a fetus isn't viable for some reason, there's a process that causes the cells to be, basically, reabsorbed. Or sometimes, like this one, the fetus is essentially wrapped in a cocoon and is delivered when it's time." She turns back to Celeste and does a quick survey of the terrain before she starts on the next phase of the operation. "No telling why this little one couldn't make it. They didn't suffer, though."</p><p>"Oh." Bucky doesn't know what else to say, so he takes himself and the kitten in his hands back to stand near Steve. Before he can say anything, a familiar sound catches his attention and he looks down at Steve's hands.</p><p>"Hey," Steve says after the kitten squeaks, "is that—"</p><p>"Our first squeak! Yes!" Alice cheers, not looking up from her own task. "C'mon, baby, you can do it!"</p><p>"Squeaks are good," Steve says, flashing a smile at Bucky. "Got it."</p><p>"Means they want their mother," Bucky says, jumping a little as the kitten in his grasp wheezes, then gives a soft sound that could have been a squeak if it'd had more air behind it. "Breathe?" The kitten drags in another breath, another, then finally squeaks as well.</p><p>"Oh," Steve says, beaming at Bucky and the kitten.</p><p>"Good," Bucky says to the kitten, "good, keep going."</p><p>Not long after that, the other two kittens move fitfully and make their own little sounds, much to the delight of everyone in the room. Todd gets a big oxygen mask set up on a table, so that the kittens—wrapped in dry pieces of towels or clean surgical drapes—could be tucked up into it. Bucky hovers over them, resting a fingertip lightly on each tiny chest to keep track of the rise and fall.</p><p>A few minutes later, Dr Cho makes a satisfied sound. "Okay, I'm ready to close up. Not too much longer and we can get this family back home."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky doesn't know how much time passes before Celeste is clean and dry and laid out on her side in her carrier, the kittens tucked up against her bare belly. They're all dopey from the dregs of Celeste's anesthetic, but they're managing to nose around anyhow, looking for a nipple.</p><p>"We gave her some pain meds, so between those and the last of the gas she's gonna be pretty loopy," Cho says. "Keep an eye on her, and make sure she stays as still as possible. It's okay if she gets up to eat or pee or poop, but no running or jumping or anything like that."</p><p>"Affirmative," Bucky says with a single sharp nod.</p><p>"The babies will be slow and sleepy, too," she said, "but watch them, too. If their breathing slows down or they don't seem to be awake long enough to eat anything, you may need to either switch to bottle feeding or bring them in."</p><p>"Affirmative," Bucky says, again. "No difficulties presented by need for bottle-feeding. Extensive experience recently acquired."</p><p>"I...see," Cho says, giving Bucky a strange look. She looks over at Steve.</p><p>"Jay's first litter were bottle-fed," Steve translates. "For the first week and a half, he was doing it alone."</p><p>"Wow," she says, then shakes her head. "Okay. Take Celeste home and get her settled in. Call me if you need anything."</p><p>"Will do," Steve says, over Bucky's 'Affirmative'.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>It's almost three in the morning when they all get back to Jellybean House. Bucky and Steve get Celeste and her babies settled in her cabinet; Bucky mixes up a big can of wet food with not quite an equal amount of water before he leaves it in the nest for her—he knows she's going to need a lot of fluids.</p><p>Steve tries to give Branwen some attention, but she wants nothing to do with him; she makes this clear by curling up in the corner under Bucky's bed that's the farthest away from all of them.</p><p>Bucky finds that even when he tries his usual grounding techniques, his mission-oriented mindset comes back. Worse, it's causing him enough stress that the relative stability of a mission frame of mind gives way to hypervigilance and moderate paranoia the later it gets. He checks and double-checks the sticky notes marking the limits of the lines of sight of the cameras; he goes up to the attic and works his way down to the basement, checking every latch and bolt to make sure they're secure. Any window with a covering on it is scrutinized to make certain that it allows only the minimum of light in or out; several without have spare blankets tacked up over them.</p><p>On Bucky's fourth round of pressing at the sticky notes, Steve checks his watch and takes a deep breath. Drawing himself up into textbook-perfect parade rest, he puts on his most authoratative Captain's voice and snaps, "Stand to attention, soldier!"</p><p>"Wha—Sir," Bucky says, automatic, even as he's overcome by bewilderment. He stops, stands straight, and focuses all of his attention on Steve.</p><p>"Good. I'm here to relieve you on watch," Steve says, then nods at the bed. "Stand down and get some rest."</p><p>There's a reason he shouldn't obey, but again, Bucky can't figure out what it is. Steve's giving the order, Steve will be on watch. That's good. Steve's sharp, he'll notice if there's anything to notice. "Yessir," he says, then has to hold himself very still to keep from slumping as the last 18 hours catches up with him. All he wants to do is fall into bed, it's <em>right there</em> and he knows exactly how comfortable it is...</p><p>Steve nods once, then salutes. "Dismissed, Sergeant," he says, then loses the edge of command as he continues with, "you'll feel better when you wake up, Buck. I'll keep an eye on everyone, and if anything happens I'll wake you up. Promise."</p><p>"Yeah, 'kay," Bucky says, managing to toe his shoes off before he gets under the covers. "'Night."</p><p>"Sleep well," Steve says, quietly, letting himself relax as Bucky's breathing slows and deepens.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Between Bucky and Steve, Celeste wants for nothing in the first 24 hours of her life as mother to four newborn kittens. The two men take it in turns to sleep and watch over the little family; Bucky wakes Steve twice to have confirmation that all four kittens are in fact breathing.</p><p>Marigot and several other volunteers come through on their usual schedules, though Marigot lingers to get reports from Steve and Bucky in person.</p><p>"Ugh, it's already almost eight," Marigot says that evening, looking at her watch. "I need to get back to the circus at my place."</p><p>"No wonder I'm hungry," Steve says, stretching expansively. He turns to Bucky and adds, "I'm gonna call in an order at that Chinese place we like in town. You want anything in particular?"</p><p> "No. I'll eat whatever comes," Bucky says, still feeling off-kilter enough that making choices sounds like it would take far too much effort.</p><p>"Okay," Steve says, and heads for the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>They eat in the library, watching Celeste and her babies on Bucky's laptop. Bucky can see how people might find the scene boring—it's so static that he has to watch closely to make sure everyone's breathing. About halfway through dinner, however, Celeste's ears flick forward, then she lifts her head and looks toward the end of the cabinet where the door is.</p><p>Steve glances at Bucky, then says, "I don't hear anything."</p><p>Bucky, who'd also been listening, nods once. "I don't, either—Oh." On screen, a dark shape has just poked its way into the cabinet and resolved into Branwen's head. She and Celeste sniff one another's faces for a few moments, then Branwen turns her attention to the new additions.</p><p>"Should we go in there?" Steve murmurs, as if the cats would be disturbed by anything louder.</p><p>"Not sure," Bucky admits, somewhat surprised by how comfortable he was with letting Steve know he was uncertain.</p><p>Celeste continues to sniff at Branwen as Branwen steps forward, filling more of the screen and sniffing at the kittens herself. After a minute or so of apparent inspection, Branwen turns around and starts licking Celeste's head; Celeste just licks whatever part of Branwen she can reach in return.</p><p>"Well, that's probably a good sign," Steve says, then finishes off his fourth eggroll of the evening.</p><p>Bucky hums acknowledgement, his own mouth full of sesame-orange chicken. Once he's swallowed, he says, "Maybe being friends with Celeste will help Branwen feel better about people."</p><p>"I hope so," Steve says. "But if not, she can go back to the woods and be happy there."</p><p>"Yeah."</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter:<br/>- Non-graphic descriptions of a pregnant cat giving birth naturally<br/>- Non-graphic descriptions of cats eating placentas (that's as graphic as it gets)<br/>- Non-graphic descriptions of the results of said natural birth (aside from kittens)<br/>- Some brief sadness/remembered jealousy regarding Peggy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Bucky wakes to the smell of coffee. He gets up and blinks a couple of times as he pokes his head through the door between the cat room and kitchen. "Steve?"</p><p>"G'morning," Steve says, giving him a brief smile. "Coffee's almost ready."</p><p>"You're in pajamas," Bucky says, then, "Thanks."</p><p>"Yeah. I thought maybe I'd stay over, in case...something happened and you needed to get to the vet." Steve frowns at his words. "You needed to take the <em>cats</em>, not you yourself going to the vet."</p><p>Bucky gives an amused snort, then comes all the way into the kitchen as the last of the coffee gurgles into the pot. "I figured," he says, getting a couple of mugs out of the cabinet. He hands one to Steve, who grabs the carafe and holds it out; Bucky allows him to fill his mug. "Been up long?"</p><p>"A little while. I checked on Sarah and Chaundra when I first got up. Sarah was awake and eating when I went in." Steve smiles again, bigger this time, as he retrieves the half and half from the fridge. "She's starting to look like a completely different cat."</p><p>"Good," Bucky says, adding sugar to his cup. "How's Chaundra?"</p><p>"She's... Well, as far as I can tell, her URI is improving. She's still wary of me, though. Thanks," Steve says, as he takes the mug Bucky offers, trading him for the milky coffee in his other hand. "Not sure if spending time with her will help her feel better about me." </p><p>The preparation and swapping of coffee is almost automatic, leaving Bucky feeling both a little off and like he'd regained something all at once. "Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't," he says. "It's up to the cat, though, so if they don't take to you it's not your fault."</p><p>"Which is good," Steve says, amused again. "I don't know if my delicate ego could handle being snubbed by a cat."</p><p>"You're such a..." Bucky squints as he tries to come up with the word. "Drama... Dramatic...king?" He shakes his head. "That's not right."</p><p>"Drama queen? Tony uses that one a lot, not usually with me, though." Steve takes a sip of his coffee.</p><p>"Maybe that was it," Bucky says, shrugging. "What are you doing today?"</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The next morning starts out similarly to the previous morning, except that Steve's excuse is that he'd been too tired to risk the drive back to his place. Bucky raises his eyebrows at that, but Steve stands his ground. They swap coffees—and agendas—again, then go off to start their respective days.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"This time around, we asked the community for naming-theme suggestions," Marigot says as she watches Bucky carefully weighing Celeste's kittens.</p><p>"Yeah?" Bucky repeats the numbers to himself three times, then puts the kitten back against Celeste's poor bald belly. Her incision is red and somewhat swollen, but not overly so—it looks perfectly normal for traumatized skin and muscle. As far as Bucky can tell, all of her nipples are producing milk, though as various videos have shown the kittens seem to have a few favorites and are already willing to fight one another for access. Well, fight might be a strong word, given they don't seem to intend to harm one another. He picks up the third kitten and sets it in the bowl of the scale.</p><p>"Yep. We picked three we liked, then put up an online poll. The winner was biomes."</p><p>"Biomes?" Third kitten weighed and returned. Bucky picks up the last kitten and puts it on the scale.</p><p>"Areas? Like Savannah, taiga, steppe, tundra, sub-arctic," Marigot says, watching him gently place the last kitten beside its siblings.</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, but his nose wrinkles. "Sub-arctic isn't a good name for a kitten." He turns to his computer and diligently enters the weights for each kitten into a spreadsheet, saving after each entry.</p><p>Marigot chuckles. "No, it's not. We didn't put that one in the list that went up after the theme was decided. The winners were... Hang on." She gets her phone out and taps at the screen a few times. "Here. The winners were Savannah, Taiga, Alpine, and Heath, with Chaparral as a backup if we decided that we didn't like one of them."</p><p>"Those are better than sub-arctic," Bucky agrees.</p><p>"As our official Kitten Wrangler, I think you should decide which name goes with which kitten," she says.</p><p>"Me? I..." Bucky looks down at the babies, all of which have nuzzled in against their mother and are nursing contentedly, for the moment. The soft little sounds of suckling are weirdly soothing; Bucky wants to lie down and fall asleep to them. "Do I have to...say why? Or—"</p><p>"No," Marigot says, shaking her head. "Someone else can do the justification later, if any is needed. All you have to do is label them." She smiles at him.</p><p>Bucky smiles, briefly, at the kittens. "All right. Um. I think... I think the tortoiseshell girl with the white feet is Savannah, the orange—ginger—tabby boy is Heath, the calico that looks just like her mother is Chaparral, and the mostly-white one with the tabby stockings and spots is Alpine."</p><p>"Excellent! I'll take some quick video of them all in a few when they're done nursing and say their names, then make an announcement post. If you hold them up so I can get a good shot of their little faces I'd appreciate it. I'll be quick."</p><p>"Sure," Bucky says.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>By the end of the first week of the new kittens's lives, Branwen is taking over when Celeste leaves the nest for a trip to the litter box or just to stretch her legs. Celeste never stays gone too long, and she's fine with sharing her space with Branwen. It's all very cozy and domestic, at least until Bucky has to poke his nose in to weigh kittens. Celeste's presence does seem to help calm Branwen, and after witnessing Celeste eat blobs of wet food from Bucky's finger a few times, Branwen does the same--though with the definite air of doing him a favor.</p><p>Celeste's kittens—dubbed The Rangers by the Feral Family—double their weight by the end of the same week, which delights everyone. The incision on Celeste's belly heals well, even with kittens pawing at her, and life is great.</p><p>Which, of course, means that <em>something</em> has to change. That something is Bucky's phone buzzing insistently atop his dresser, waking him at 2:37 AM with alerts from several of the live-feed mods letting him know that Branwen was in labor and had delivered her first kitten at 2:36. He replies to them with thanks, texts Marigot about it, then rolls out of bed and quietly makes his way upstairs to wake Steve. Bucky knows he's going to have to talk to Steve about the fact that the man hasn't gone home, yet, but that's for later.</p><p>"Steve? Steve," Bucky says, softly, from the doorway.</p><p>"Muh?" Steve jerks upright, something clutched in his hand but kept out of sight for now. "Buck?"</p><p>"Yeah, 's just me. Branwen's having her kittens, now," Bucky says, ignoring the fact that Steve has a weapon—<em>he</em> still sleeps with a knife under his pillow, after all. "If you wanted to see."</p><p>"Yeah, okay," Steve says, sounding more enthusiastic than his words imply. He slides his hand back under his pillow as he stretches showily with his other arm, then rubs his face with both hands. "Be down in a second."</p><p>"Sure," Bucky says, then leaves him to it. Downstairs, he opens his laptop so he can watch Branwen's nest, only to find that she's not the only one in it. Celeste is curled around Branwen's head, purring loudly as Branwen rests; there's a tiny wet black kitten lying on the blanket near one of Branwen's back feet. Branwen suddenly pushes herself partially upright and has three strong contractions in a row, leaving...something on the blanket. Bucky frowns and adjusts the camera, getting a glimpse of—he'd left <em>KITTENS!</em> open to the <em>Birth</em> tab, so he flips through until he finds pictures of placentas—and yes, that was a placenta. Good.</p><p>Steve comes into the room to the dulcet sounds of Branwen eating the placenta as amplified by Bucky's laptop and makes a face, but he joins Bucky on his bed anyway. "How many has she had?"</p><p>"Just one, so far. One kitten and one placenta, so that's good. I should probably make notes so we don't lose track." Not that it was likely either of them would, but documentation was important. If it didn't get written down, no one else could access it; that was great for assassinations, but terrible for medical treatment. Bucky opens a text file and starts making his notes.</p><p>"Shouldn't you weigh the baby?" Steve says, when Bucky's done typing.</p><p>"Yes, but I'll wait 'til she's had her second kitten," Bucky says, tapping the binder on his other side. "This says kittens usually come in pairs, with a rest in between. We'll get her some food then, too."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says, "you're the kitten wrangler."</p><p>"I just read a lot," Bucky says, mildly alarmed at the idea that he's some kind of <em>expert</em>. "And watched some of the videos of other cats giving birth on the channel."</p><p>"You still know more than I do," Steve says, then gently bumps his shoulder into Bucky's.</p><p>The words rise up from somewhere deep inside, popping out into the world with almost no thought on his part. "Well, yeah, but that's always been true."</p><p>Steve stares at Bucky for a moment, then claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the laughter that tries to burst out of him. "Yeah, yeah," he says, bumping into Bucky again. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he turns his head toward the laptop, all humor draining away. "Is she okay?"</p><p>"Huh?" Bucky looks at the screen, brows drawing together. Branwen is lying down again, her head on Celeste's side and eyes closed, her uppermost back leg raised as she kind of...squished herself up. "I think she's having contractions," he says, adjusting the camera again. "Yes, she's... I think... Yeah, if you look right here, you can see the sac for the next one." He points at the screen, where the barest curve of something dark is shining against Branwen's wet fur.</p><p>"Oh," Steve says, watching avidly.</p><p>It takes Branwen another four contractions to deliver her second kitten, who is as dark as their sibling. Celeste gets up and starts licking the first kitten, still purring; first kitten squeaks and whines a little as she does. Branwen cocks her leg up and gets straight to work cleaning second kitten. Second kitten doesn't make any noise, yet, but does lift their head when Branwen licks her way down their spine.</p><p>"Good, good, movement already," Bucky murmurs, making a few more notes. "As soon as she delivers the placenta, I'll get things set up for weighing if you'll grab her some more food?"</p><p>"Sure," Steve says. He fidgets a little, hands restless.</p><p>Bucky watches Steve out of the corner of his eye, feeling odd but not in a bad way. Which, come to think of it, was an apt description of how he felt around Steve most of the time: strange, but not a bad kind of strange. He's not sure about the impulse, but he doesn't really question it—allowing himself to follow the urges of his vague memories has worked out well so far when it came to Steve—and slips his left hand into Steve's right.</p><p>Steve squeezes Bucky's hand, leaning into his shoulder a little more. "This is... I feel like I should be doing more, but I know I can't help," he says, quietly.</p><p>Realizing he feels the same way, Bucky nods. "I know, me too. But unless she really needs us, it's best to just let her be. That's what the book says, anyway. And Celeste is there." The purring grows louder as Celeste moves, getting closer to the camera; it fades away as she concentrates on cleaning up Branwen's tail and back legs.</p><p>Branwen heaves, her back legs stretching out, and in thirty seconds has delivered the second placenta. She shoves herself up, then pushes Celeste out of the way so she can get to work. Celeste doesn't mind in the least, licking Branwen's head a few times before she settles back down and starts purring again.</p><p>Bucky and Steve get up and set about their tasks, Steve heading for the kitchen and a fresh dish of watery food and Bucky for the top of the cabinets where he'd left the scale and set out an assortment of tiny collars. He puts the scale on the floor near what is nominally Branwen's nest, then opens Celeste's cabinet to check on her kittens. The kittens are invisible, at first—Bucky smiles as he realizes Celeste had covered them up with part of the top layer of her bedding, leaving them in a dark, warm cave where they'd be safe. Satisfied that they'd be fine, he closes the door and looks up to see Steve headed their way.</p><p>"Here," Steve says, folding himself down to kneel beside Bucky and showing the dish to him. "I thought maybe not too soupy, since it might get spilled."</p><p>"Good idea," Bucky says. He carefully opens the right-hand door, remembering that Celeste was the most likely to be on that side.</p><p>Celeste <em>growls</em> at the intrusion, her head whipping around to see what's coming. When she recognizes Bucky, however, she relaxes, purring loudly and turning to face him fully.</p><p>"Was that Celeste?" Steve says.</p><p>"Yes. She's not going to let anything happen to Branwen or the babies," Bucky says, approving. "No, you're gonna be on guard, aren't you, dollface?" He gives her a round of ear and chin skritchies, then opens the door the rest of the way. "Good for you. Can I have permission to weigh her kittens, though? Hm?"</p><p>Celeste trills at him, then hops out of the nest to go see Steve. Bucky takes it as having her blessing and grabs the scale, turning it on in the process. Branwen is eyeing him suspiciously, but doesn't object when he picks up the first kitten—a quick peek tells him she's a girl—black with a white locket just like mama. First kitten squeaks and pushes at his fingers, sounding annoyed that whatever he is, he lacks nipples. He sets her gently into the scale and watches the numbers fluctuate until they settle on... "One hundred grams exactly, wow. You're perfectly average," he says, amused with himself. "Hey Steve? Can you hand me one of the collars from the counter? Doesn't matter what color."</p><p>"Sure, hang on," Steve says, and after a few moments of shuffling holds out a bright orange collar. "Here you go."</p><p>"Thanks," Bucky says. He carefully gets the little strip of fabric around first kitten's neck, tears off the excess without thinking about it, and double-checks to make sure it's not too tight. That done, he lifts her from the scale and sets her down right up against Branwen's belly, hoping the kitten will find a nipple and latch on more quickly.</p><p>Branwen hisses at him as he returns the kitten, then checks the baby over when he reaches for second kitten.</p><p>Second kitten looks exactly like his sister and their mother: black with a white patch at the base of his throat. "Glad I got collars out," Bucky says, "would you hand me another one, Stevie?"</p><p>"Here," Steve says, sounding a little funny as he presses the collar into Bucky's hand.</p><p>"Thanks. Let's see... He's a solid 99 grams, and his collar is white. Okay." Bucky gets the collar on and puts him beside his sister, earning himself another hiss from Branwen. "All right, that's my part done," he says, and moves aside so Steve can give her their peace offering.</p><p>"Hey, beautiful," Steve says as he leans into the space made by Bucky. "Here's something tasty for you." He pushes the bowl along the floor of the nest until it's more or less in the corner nearest her head.</p><p>Ignoring the food in favor of hissing at Steve is pretty par for the course with Branwen; she doesn't actually wait for him to leave her line of sight to start eating, however.</p><p>"That's it, get your strength up. You'll need it," Steve says, then sits back and smiles at Bucky as the other man closes the door. "That went better than I was expecting."</p><p>"Yeah, it did," Bucky agrees, disappointing Celeste by moving her aside so he can stand up. "Sorry, sweetheart," he says to her.</p><p>"Meh," Celeste says, and goes to check on her own kittens.</p><p>Steve shakes his head at the little exchange and gets to his feet as well. "Are you hungry? Either of you, I guess," he says, looking amused.</p><p>"I..." Bucky thinks about it, checking his watch. "Yeah, I could eat. And I think Celeste's okay, but you can check if you want."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says. He peeks into Celeste's nest, earning a disgruntled sound from her. "She's got half a bowl left, so I think she's okay for now. Leftover hotch-potch okay with you?"</p><p>"That's fi—" Bucky's struck by a stray memory so vivid he worries he's hallucinating. <em>Despite the drab Army colors she's wrapped up in the woman still strikes sparks, her fire a match for Steve's. She smiles at the motley group around the table, all of them waiting for the briefing, saying "I've always liked a good hotch-potch. All right, gentlemen, Bletchly just sent us some new intelligence..." </em></p><p>"Bucky?" Steve says, when he's stood there a few moments too long.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, sorry." He shakes his head. "Leftovers are fine. Um. There...was a woman that liked hotch-potch?"</p><p>"Peggy," Steve says, sadness tinting the smile that comes with the name. "Margret Carter, agent of the Strategic Scientific Reserve—the division that helped plan the procedure that ended up making me into who I am now. Physically, at least. She's still alive."</p><p>"Red dress," Bucky mutters, another memory flaring up before fading away. "Hell-raiser. Like you. Liked you."</p><p>Now Steve's turning pink around the ears. "Yeah," he says, "she was something else. She did like me, which was... Well, she liked me before, which was new. She's had a good life, though. An incredible career and a great family."</p><p>"That's...good," Bucky says, unsure of what else he might say.</p><p>"Yeah. She's..." Steve takes a deep breath and seems to shake off the melancholy and the memories. "Peggy's not too far from here, actually. If you wanted to visit her someday."</p><p>"Maybe," Bucky says, making it warmer and more hopeful than he really feels. He'd just remembered that he'd liked—and been annoyed by—Agent Carter in equal measure... And he was certain it had everything to do with how much of Steve's attention she'd commanded. It had been stupid then and was even stupider now, since unless Agent Carter had also gotten some version of their serums, she'd gone the normal route and would be in her nineties. Not even remotely a threat, and a threat to <em>what,</em> anyway? This was all very strange. Maybe he should mention it to Anikó the next time they talked.</p><p>"If we catch her on a good day, she'll be happy to see you," Steve says, then gestures toward the kitchen. "I'll go get the food."</p><p>"And if we don't, she'll hate me?" Bucky tries to make the words wry, teasing, but he's not sure he manages.</p><p>"No, Buck," Steve says gently, pausing at the door into the kitchen. "No, she, uh, has Alzheimer's disease. It's a kind of dementia. Sometimes she doesn't remember things. Or all she can remember is, is the war."</p><p>"Oh. I'm sorry," Bucky says, though he can't say what he's apologizing or offering sympathy for.</p><p>"It's one of those things," Steve says. It has the air of something that's been repeated like a mantra, as if saying it enough times will finally dull the biting edge of helplessness that comes with confronting a situation that cannot be altered. "Back in a second."</p><p>Bucky lets him go, moving to set up the table and chairs in a makeshift buffet; he slinks into the kitchen a few minutes later to get glasses and fill a pitcher with water. The room is dim, lit only by a night-light plugged in near the fridge, and Steve is standing there with his eyes closed, forehead pressed against the cool metal of the appliance. He gives the other man a few moments, frowning as he listens to Steve's uneven breathing. Bucky's not sure what's going on, but he remembers the night of Celeste's operation and his own desire to hold her for comfort. He's not a cat, but... With that in mind, he says, softly, "Steve?"</p><p>Steve doesn't jump—he'd heard Bucky come in—but he's not quite ready to move, either. "Mm."</p><p>"Steve, c'mere," Bucky says, keeping his voice down. He takes half a step toward Steve, holding his arms up and out, offering an embrace.</p><p>Opening one eye, Steve peeks at Bucky; when he sees movement, he lifts his head to actually look. "I—It's okay?" He turns toward Bucky as he speaks.</p><p>"Yeah," Bucky says, closing his eyes as Steve reaches for him. They pull one another close, tucking their faces into the crook of one another's necks, arms tight around each other. It's better than <em>okay</em>, it's... Steve is big and warm against him, smelling like the soaps from the upstairs bath and something else, something soothing, a missing piece found and replaced.</p><p>"'M sorry," Steve mumbles, "'m s'posed t'be gettin' food..."</p><p>"Shh," Bucky says, shaking his head just enough to convey the idea. "Not gonna starve. This is good. Important."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says; he takes a deep breath and, on the exhale, lets himself relax into Bucky's arms. "It is."</p><p>They stand there for another minute or two, until Steve's stomach makes a funny sound.</p><p>"I might not starve, but you..." Bucky says, smiling as he loosens his grasp.</p><p>"Maybe," Steve says, and he's smiling, too. "Okay. I'll get the food, and you'll get..."</p><p>"I'll get dishes and something to drink," Bucky says, heading for the cabinet with the glasses. "Water all right?"</p><p>"Water's fine," Steve says, checking through the leftovers and working out how best to carry everything.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>They're about halfway done with their meal when Celeste emerges from her nest, stretches, then pads over to them.</p><p>"Hi, dollface," Bucky says, smiling at her.</p><p>"Mee," she says, putting one foot on his and using it to balance as she sits up on her back legs, looking like a meerkat. "Mee?"</p><p>"No, this is people food," Bucky says, lifting his plate a little higher. "You can't have any. It might make you sick."</p><p>"Mee," she says again, turning her attention on Steve.</p><p>"Sorry, sweetpea, but I'm not going to give you any either," Steve tells her, sounding honestly apologetic. "I know this has garlic in it and I read something recently that said it's bad for cats."</p><p>"Meh," Celeste says, settling back down onto all fours. She lashes her tail a few times, then turns her back on them and pointedly begins to wash her face.</p><p>"Now I feel terrible," Steve says to Bucky, his voice bland.</p><p>"I know. We're horrible people. How do we live with ourselves when we're so awful to hungry cats?" Bucky says, his tone equally bland.</p><p>"It's going to keep me up all night," Steve says, then pops a broccoli floret into his mouth. "Rethinking my entire life."</p><p>"Same," Bucky says, then snickers when he meets Steve's gaze. His amusement fades when he catches a sound from the direction of the nest cabinets; Celeste hears it, too, and makes a beeline for Branwen's side of the pair. Bucky leans over and taps the space bar on his laptop to wake it up, then puts in his password.</p><p>On-screen, Branwen is up and moving, the two kittens sprawled on the blanket and making tiny annoyed sounds at having been unceremoniously dislodged from their chosen nipples. Celeste pokes her head in, trilling at her; Branwen makes a short noise in return and lies down with her back along the back wall of the cabinet. Celeste comes all the way in, sniffs at the food, sniffs at the kittens, licks each of them a few times, then goes to settle near Branwen's head, purring all the while.</p><p>"More kittens?" Steve says, setting the empty container he was holding to the side.</p><p>"Probably," Bucky says, bringing up the text file so he can make more notes. He also starts a weight chart in a spreadsheet, grateful for the template that Marigot had given him so that he didn't have to set up the calculations from scratch. (He was decent with technology, sure, but like laundry and microwaves, Excel was not something The Asset had been trained for.)</p><p>Twenty-five minutes later, after they'd cleared up, Steve and Bucky are leaning into one another while watching what seems to be a lot of nothing much.</p><p>"Is this normal?" Steve says, squinting at Branwen and her kittens, both of whom had managed to relatch.</p><p>"From what I've read and Marigot has said, yes. Sometimes they can go for several hours between kittens," Bucky says. "You can go back to sleep if you want."</p><p>"No, no, I was just wondering if she's okay," Steve says, nodding toward the screen. "After Celeste, I'm... I don't want us to miss something being wrong."</p><p>"Sure," Bucky says, because oh <em>God</em> does he understand that feeling. He looks at the screen for a few moments, then turns to the troubleshooting pages at the end of the <em>Birth </em>section. "The blankets only seem to have a little bit of blood and birth-related fluids on them, so far. She's delivered the same number of placentas as kittens, which is important. No weirdly-colored discharge that we've been able to see, and both kittens are lively and hungry and nursing well. She's not having any contractions right now, or if she is they're very small, getting the kittens into position to be born."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says, looking over Bucky's shoulder at the book. There's a picture of a pale yellow blanket with what looks like an alarmingly large blood stain on it. "Is that a list of everything that can go wrong?"</p><p>"Not a comprehensive list, no," Bucky says, and his voice is serious. "It doesn't include things like a gas-leak explosion, or invasion by enemy agents, or meteor strike."</p><p>Steve blinks a couple of times. "I... Right. I was thinking more along the lines of, um, biologically."</p><p>"Probably not," Bucky says with a shrug. "It's a list of the most frequently seen problems when it comes to cats giving birth and how to deal with them. Some of them are easy things, like tying off an umbilical cord, and other things just say 'take cat and kitten(s) to a vet now' in all capital letters."</p><p>"How <em>do</em> you tie off an umbilical cord?" Steve says, looking down at his hands—they were big enough compared to an adult cat; he'd held Savannah just moments after she'd been born and he remembered how ridiculously oversized his hands had seemed. </p><p>"With dental floss, according to this. Only if it's necessary, though. Mama's teeth are usually the best tool for the job," Bucky says, flipping the pages back to the stages of labor and checking on Branwen and Celeste.</p><p>Branwen looks like she's asleep and Celeste is tucked up into a loaf, still purring; the kittens are either still nursing or have fallen asleep themselves. The whole scene is enough to make Bucky want to yawn and lie down, but he knows he can't. He's on watch, even if what he's watching for isn't his usual target, and he's not about to shirk his duty.  </p><p>It's another 45 minutes before Branwen delivers another kitten. The baby arrives back feet first, but Branwen's rest and snack seem to have restored her—all told, it's only about ten contractions between the first push and when the kitten is lying half on the blanket, half over Branwen's lower back leg. Branwen takes a few moments before she sits up and starts cleaning the kitten; Celeste gets up and joins her in order to assist.</p><p>"How many kittens are we expecting?" Steve says, as third kitten lifts their head and starts trying to scent the air and figure out which way to go.</p><p>"We think six. Possibly five, with someone's tail causing a false positive on six," Bucky says. "Sometimes it's hard to tell."</p><p>"We're halfway there," Steve says, then tilts his head as Branwen lifts her head. "Might get the placenta, now."</p><p>"Now who sounds like an expert?" Bucky teases, though he expects Steve's right. A few moments later and Branwen's having another contraction, and then another, and on the third the placenta drops to the blanket and she's bending down to gnaw at the cord. Bucky mutes his laptop as Branwen proceeds to eat the lump of tissue; he knows it's full of vital nutrients and hormones, that it's perfectly natural. That doesn't mean he wants—or <em>has</em>—to listen to her doing it. He takes the moment to update his notes, then goes back to watching.</p><p>About 15 minutes passes full of cleaning cats and squeaky kittens before Branwen closes her eyes and begins pushing again. Fourth kitten takes longer—eighteen contractions—but is eventually delivered the usual way around. Fourth is also a surprise in that instead of being wholly black with a splash of white, they appear to be wearing a dapper black jacket and white gloves, but with solid black pants.</p><p>"Same thing?" Steve says, quietly, once the placenta has arrived.</p><p>"Yeah," Bucky says, standing and stretching as he does. "Although if she's still got plenty of food, maybe only add a little more."</p><p>"Sure," Steve says. He checks on Celeste's kittens—they're snoozing away under their layer of fleece—then joins Bucky on Branwen's side.</p><p>"Hey, Celeste, it's just me," Bucky says, before he opens the door.</p><p>Celeste trills at him, but she doesn't leave Branwen's side.</p><p>"Hi, sweetheart. I just want to steal kittens for a few seconds, okay? I'll put them right back," he tells her, pulling the scale over. Bucky slides his hand in, slowly, getting his fingers under third kitten before pulling them back. "Let me see... You're another boy, okay. And you weigh... Oh, wow, one-oh-three!"</p><p>"Big boy," Steve says, and offers Bucky one of the two collars he'd grabbed from the top of the cabinet.</p><p>"Yes. Thanks," Bucky says, taking the collar—purple—and fitting it around the kitten's neck. He returns the baby the same way—Branwen manages a hiss this time—and carefully nabs the fourth kitten. "Hiya, fancy-pants, let's see how big you are."</p><p>Fancy-pants squawks indignantly and scrabbles against whatever surface they can reach in an attempt to get back to the warmth and food provided by Branwen. When they settle for long enough that the scale can register an accurate weight, they're 99 grams.</p><p>"Just like your brother," Bucky tells the kitten. "And you're his new... Sister. That's two of each, so far. And you get a... green collar." He takes the collar from Steve, puts it on the fancy baby, then returns her to Branwen. That done, he snags the dish from the corner and hands it over to Steve before he stands up and closes the door.</p><p>"Thanks," Steve says, then moves away to top off the contents of the bowl. Branwen hisses at him, too, when he brings it back to her, but it's pretty half-hearted. "I promise I'm frightened," he says to her by way of farewell.</p><p>"Orange girl, white boy, purple boy, green girl," Bucky says, reviewing his notes. He texts the list and their accompanying weights to Marigot and the mods, setting his phone aside as he settles on his bed beside Steve once more.</p><p>"And at least one, possibly two, more unknowns," Steve says. He leans his shoulder into Bucky's, slipping his hand into Bucky's without thinking about it. "Hope it's not too much longer."</p><p>"Shouldn't mention that it's possible for cats to deliver all of their kittens over a couple of days, then," Bucky says, mostly teasing Steve. He honestly doesn't expect it to take that long.</p><p>"Really?" Steve groans at the idea, letting his head flop over to bump against Bucky's. "Maybe I will go back to bed."</p><p>"It's possible, but I don't think it's usual," Bucky says, trying for 'reassuring' and thinking he probably manages 'sleepy' instead. Steve was surprisingly comfortable.</p><p>"I hope not," Steve says. He perks up, leaning forward. "Oh, is that a contraction already?"</p><p>Bucky opens his eyes—when had he closed them?—and sits up straight as he looks at Branwen. She's got her back legs stretched out and, yes, the way she appears to be straining speaks of a contraction. "Oh. That's fast. 'M sure she's ready for all of this to be over."</p><p>"No doubt," Steve says.</p><p>Fourteen contractions later, fifth kitten is moving fitfully under Celeste's careful bathing. The baby looks like they're more of the same in terms of coloring—dark all over with a fleck of white at their throat. The placenta takes a little longer to arrive, with a lull of about 20 minutes before a half-dozen contractions drops it onto the blanket. Branwen eats it, slowly, with the occasional pause to nose at the attached kitten. Said kitten whines at her, tiny paws flailing in an attempt to get purchase so they can drag themselves up to a nipple. Celeste, meanwhile, is cleaning up around Branwen's backside. Branwen finishes the placenta, then flops over onto her side, allowing the kitten unimpeded access to her belly.</p><p>Bucky makes his notes as fifth kitten wedges themselves in between their orange-collared sister and their purple-collared brother. "Okay. One more, maybe, and then depending on what time it is we can sleep for a little while."</p><p>"It's almost five," Steve says, after a glance at the clock in the corner of the screen.</p><p>"Or morning chores and then a nap," Bucky says.</p><p>"I could do them while you slept," Steve says.</p><p>"We can do them together," Bucky says. He knows it's not worth arguing over. It does remind him that he'd been planning to talk to Steve about the whole not-leaving thing, however, so he goes on with, "Hey, um, when was the last time you went home?"</p><p>"I went back long enough to grab some clothes the morning Celeste came home," Steve says with a shrug. </p><p>"You're...living here, then." Instead of being strange but good as usual, Bucky finds the idea comforting. There's a rightness to it, like something out of alignment has been trued.</p><p>"It's nicer—No, that's not true. The place I rented over in Oakdale is fine, it's modern and up-to-date. It's not a hovel. This place... This place is warm. It feels like there's been whole lives lived here," Steve says, looking around the room. There are little nicks and scratches in the trim around the windows, along the baseboards; there are worn spots in the finish on the floorboards. "It feels better, here."</p><p>"It's familiar," Bucky says, slowly, after he's turned Steve's words over. Like the medicine conversation, the certainty grows as he speaks. "It's like... where we used to live?" They'd lived together before. No wonder he was more than fine with Steve staying.</p><p>"Yeah, I bet that's it," Steve says, nodding a couple of times. "Everywhere we lived had been someone else's home first, when we were growing up. And after. Most of our furniture was someone else's first, too."</p><p>"We didn't have anyone else's cats, though," Bucky says, watching Celeste settle herself against the doors of the cabinet, coralling the kittens between Branwen and her own belly.</p><p>"Not for lack of trying," Steve says, smiling at the screen. "I was allergic and we had no money to be feeding strays and alley cats, but I did what I could."</p><p>"Huh," Bucky says. There's no memory of such things, not even a fleeting sensation of familiarity, but it sounds like something Steve would do.</p><p>"I was kind of a terror, I think. 'Allergic to cats? Let me go spend time with them!' 'Weak and frail? I'll kick your ass for saying so!' Good thing no one ever told me I couldn't swim the East River if my life depended on it," Steve says.</p><p>Bucky thinks about a tiny Steve angrily splashing his way from one shore to the other; it's a toss-up as to whether he'd make it across out of spite or drown 5 meters in. "Thank God," he mutters.</p><p>Steve chuckles at that. "I'd have either made it across, drowned, or you'd have fished me out before I got too far."</p><p>"I hope I'd catch you before you ended up in the water." Bucky shook his head.</p><p>"Probably," Steve says.</p><p>They're quiet for a while, watching the newborns; there's a thumping and bumping from overhead, so Bucky brings up the feed for the upstairs camera. The Foodies are racing around, occasionally tackling one another and rolling over. He's suddenly struck with the knowledge that this will be his future—watching the kittens at a remove, at a distance, never to cuddle them or clean up after them again. It's like a blow, a stab, leaving him winded and curled forward, free hand on his chest.</p><p>"Buck?" Steve's voice is soft, worried. "Something wrong with one of the cats?"</p><p>Shaking his head, Bucky tries to catch his breath. "No, no, they're fine." The goal of raising them the way the Feral to Family does is so that the cats will <em>be</em> fine, no matter where they go. He's grateful for that, grateful to know that the kittens will be able to adapt to whatever they might find in their future homes, of course he is. It's just...</p><p>"How can I help?" Steve says, after waiting a minute or so for Bucky to elaborate.</p><p>"I don't... I don't know. Don't think you can," Bucky says, eyes on the wrestling match between Dolmades and Pebble. "They have to go to new homes. They have to, and I can't...do anything about it."</p><p>"I looked at the adoption application," Steve says, voice still quiet. "There's so many parts to fill out, so much work that someone has to put in so they can even be <em>considered</em> as an adopter. And it's only the first step, right?"</p><p>"I know!" Bucky turns his head away from Steve, free hand now curled up and pressed against his mouth. "I know. And I know, they're just cats, they—"</p><p>"It was just you and them for almost two weeks. You were all they knew, all they had, and they were the center of your existence," Steve says. "They're not 'just cats', not any more than you are 'just a caretaker' for them." </p><p>"They're happy, and they'll be okay, but it's—" He's interrupted by a flurry of activity in Branwen's nest. Celeste has turned herself so she's more of a loaf than a sausage and she's bathing a cranky squeaky White collar. Purple and Green are in a fight over Green's nipple—so far, Green is holding her ground—and Orange is either trying to wriggle her way underneath Branwen or find a nipple closer to the blanket.</p><p>Branwen herself has her eyes closed, apparently ignoring all of this nonsense; her head is perilously close to being <em>in</em> her food dish.</p><p>"Are they going to hurt one another?" Steve says, frowning a little at the way Purple keeps getting his foot between Green's nose and Branwen's belly and trying to pry her off the contested teat.</p><p>"I don't think so," Bucky says, getting a hold of <em>KITTENS!</em> and lifting the <em>Nursing</em> tab. Just before the section about comfort nursing is a couple of paragraphs titled <em>Whap Fights At The Milkbar</em>.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Unless a mother cat has only one kitten, you will inevitably witness the phenomenon of kittens fighting over their favorite nipple(s). The ratio of nipples to kittens could be 5:1 and there would <span class="u">still</span> be a fight over The One Magical Nipple. It also doesn't matter how many of mama's nipples are actually producing milk—the kitten that wants TOMN has often been happily nursing away at a perfectly functional nipple before either running out of milk or realizing that a sibling is getting something they aren't.</em>
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  <p>
    <em>The most common concern when it comes to fighting over nipples is adequate milk supply—is mama making enough per nipple, or does she have enough functional nipples? Supplemental feeding may be necessary for kittens in a litter where only a few nipples are producing milk. See 'Checking Nipples' under Troubleshooting for the techniques involved in milking a cat. (Good luck!)</em>
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  <p>
    <em>Mastitis is another potential factor in kittens favoring one or two nipples over spreading out. See 'Mastitis' under Troubleshooting for more information. </em>
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  <p>
    <em>As for the fighters themselves... It is uncommon for kittens to injure one another during these contests, at least badly enough to require medical intervention. Minor scratches on faces, especially noses, are what we see most often. If you notice any scratches, watch for signs of infection. </em>
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</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p>Bucky reads it out loud, smiling as Steve laughs.</p><p>"All right, I guess I won't worry about it," Steve says, then tilts his head to one side. "You know, when I was trying to imagine all the amazing things that the twenty-first century might have to offer, learning about milking a cat was <em>not</em> one of the things that came to mind."</p><p>"Yeah, not exactly something I worried about adding to my skill-set, either," Bucky says, amused. He turns the tabs back to <em>Birth </em>and puts the binder aside once more.</p><p>On-screen, Purple has managed to dislodge Green and is now nuzzling at Branwen's belly, looking for his prize; Green is now making tiny protests about the indignity of being bathed. Celeste, long inured to the complaints of kittens, continues making sure Green is spotless.</p><p>"It's something you'll need to learn, though, if you're going to keep doing this," Steve says, tone thoughtful now. "Are you?"</p><p>"I... I could," Bucky says. It's not that he hasn't thought about it at all, in the time he's been at Jellybean House, because he had. It was more of a passing thought than anything serious; he hasn't yet sat down to consider his future with Feral to Family and a list of pros and cons. "I'm... I'm not sure. If this is what I want. I know I can change my mind—" And wasn't that a hell of a thing to know, that he could just <em>leave</em> whenever he wanted? "—and I wouldn't want to just vanish if I did leave. I haven't thought much about it. There's been a lot happening lately."</p><p>"It does seem like there's been a new cat or something every few days, doesn't it?" Steve says, settling against Bucky again. "And it's okay if you decide you need to do something else. Or move out and commute here, or... Or give it all up and become a beet farmer in Mongolia."</p><p>"Mongolia?" Bucky says, giving him a sidelong look.</p><p>"First place I thought of that was far away. Beets probably grow there. Or Timbuktu."</p><p>"Makes sense," Bucky says, and they lapse into comfortable silence once more. Things are settling down in Branwen's nest, three of the kittens having relatched and Green scooted away from Celeste, back toward Branwen's lower back leg where her collar-free sibling is either asleep or nursing.</p><p>"Think we'll see another kitten?" Steve says, after another few minutes have passed without much happening.</p><p>"I—Yes," Bucky says, just as Branwen goes stiff and her belly compresses.</p><p>"So there were six kittens," Steve says, as the contraction eases.</p><p>"Apparently," Bucky says, texting Marigot about it.</p><p>Branwen's sixth kitten takes the longest to appear—a good two dozen contractions—but finally they're out in the world. The placenta follows almost immediately after, but Branwen ignores it. She gives the kitten a few perfunctory swipes with her tongue, appearing utterly exhausted. Celeste picks up the slack, eating the placenta and then cleaning the kitten from head to toe and nose to tail.</p><p>"So now we just...leave them alone?" Steve says, letting go of Bucky so the other man can go weigh the new additions.</p><p>"Mostly," Bucky says, getting to his feet and stretching. He crosses over to the cabinet and says hello to Celeste before he opens the door. Celeste trills at him, then leaves Branwen's nest to go have a drink of water.</p><p>Branwen's eyes open to slits, but she can't muster the energy to do more than that as Bucky picks up fifth kitten. Fifth kitten is another girl, all black save her white locket. When Bucky puts his hand up to grope for one of the two remaining collars, he runs into Steve's hand instead.</p><p>"Thanks," Bucky says, glancing over his shoulder at the other man for a moment. He gets the red collar on the kitten and weighs her—96 grams, the smallest of the bunch—then trades her for her newest sibling. The sixth kitten is also a female, dressed much like the fourth kitten in a jacket and gloves; she has white toes on her back feet as well. She's also the biggest at 105 grams and grumps at having a pink collar put on her. All is forgotten, however, when Bucky puts her up to mama's warm side and she bumps into a nipple.</p><p>Bucky finishes making his notes, saves the file, then emails it to Marigot; he puts the kittens' collar colors and starting weights into their spreadsheet and uploads it, then texts a link to all the mods so they can share it in chat. By the time he's done, it's almost six and time to get up for the day anyway.</p><p>"I'll make coffee," Steve says, when Bucky mentions the time.</p><p>"I'll go up and feed the kittens," Bucky says, thinking about his checklist for the day. At the door to the hallway, he pauses and looks back. "Hey, Steve?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Thanks."</p><p>Steve smiles, honest and sunny. "Of course, Buck."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter:<br/>- Surprise kitten!<br/>- Discussion of Peggy with Anikó<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky's in with the Foodies, trying to clean up while the five of them are determined to climb him from ankles to shoulders, when his phone rings. He'd mentioned needing a way to use his phone while his hands were full to Steve, and a couple of days later had a sleek little bone-conduction earpiece that he's been using ever since. A quick tap answers the call and he says, "Hello?"</p><p>"Hi, Jay, Marigot. Branwen's having contractions again," Marigot says.</p><p>"Branwen's—Oh, uh, okay. That's... She was only supposed to have five or six," Bucky says, frowning over the incorrect intel.</p><p>"That's the joy of cats," Marigot says, wry and amused. "Sometimes they give you exactly what you expect and sometimes they really, really don't."</p><p>"Huh. I'm upstairs, but as soon as I can get these kittens to detach I'll head down. I'm not sure where Steve is—maybe in with Sarah and Chaundra?"</p><p>"I sent him a text about it, but called you immediately after so I don't know, either. Branwen's young and healthy, so she should be fine. If she goes for too long without delivering anything, take her straight to the clinic, okay?"</p><p>"Certainly," Bucky says; Marigot sounds worried despite her reassuring words, so he puts as much confidence into his voice as he can. "It's going to be fine."</p><p>"I know," she sighs, then makes her tone firmer. "Yes, it is. Okay, I'll let you go. Keep me posted."</p><p>"Affirmative," Bucky says, though he doesn't feel the particular kind of askew that he did last time he'd used the word to acknowledge someone. "Goodbye."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Getting The Foodies to let go of his jeans is an exercise in both patience and perseverence. Pebble is particularly insistent, immediately launching herself at his knees when she touches the floor; Knish discovers that climbing the back of Bucky's legs makes it harder for Bucky to dislodge him. He does eventually manage to escape the room without one of the kittens going with him, however, and heads downstairs to see what's happening with Branwen.</p><p>The feed from Branwen's nest shows that she is indeed in active labor. Celeste is there, too, purring away, occasionally licking Branwen's head or face. Bucky pulls up the public-facing feed and checks chat; they fill him in on when the contractions started (about five minutes prior) and how many she'd had. He opens the text file again and makes notes, keeping an eye on Branwen as he does.</p><p>The contractions continue, and soon enough there's another little sac. To his surprise, what looks like two pale little feet and lighter legs seem to be waving, struggling, as if the kitten was reaching for  the light. Two more contractions burst the sac and spill the kitten onto the fleece of the nest, along with the usual fluids. The surprise kitten is black and white, like their siblings, but their white markings are more pronounced: a splash across their face, tall white socks on their back legs, black sleeves only come about halfway down the front legs.</p><p>Bucky goes into the medical storage room and finds a blue collar for the newborn. He takes it back into the room and checks to see if the placenta has been delivered yet. It hasn't, so he settles in to wait. While waiting, Bucky checks his texts to see if Steve has sent him anything—nope—so he walks back to the door to Isolation and taps softly a couple of times. "Steve?"</p><p>"Everything all right?" Steve says, without raising his voice.</p><p>"So far, yes. Branwen's had another kitten—"</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yes. Wanted to see if you were in the house and let you know."</p><p>"Thank you. I'll be out in another twenty minutes, probably."</p><p>"Okay. See you soon," Bucky says, then returns to his computer and the cats. Branwen is washing the newest kitten while Celeste is licking the blanket. He shakes his head at the whole thing, then checks several angles and chat to see if he can find out what happened to the placenta. As far as he can tell, at the moment, it hasn't made its appearance, yet.</p><p>Another 10 minutes, 15, 20, pass. Steve, scrubbed up and free of the bunny-suit that spending time with a ringworm-positive cat requires, comes in to sit beside him on the bed. "Oh, the new baby is easy to tell apart from the rest."</p><p>"They are. I'm surprised that they're so late, though. And that they somehow got missed in the count of how many kittens there were," Bucky says. He frowns at the screen as he opens a browser and puts in the URL for the Rescue Realities page on Feral to Family's site.</p><p>A picture of Sarah's worms greets them; Steve makes a noise that's mostly disgust. "I know," Bucky says.</p><p>"Wait, did that say—" Steve says, leaning forward a little. "Those came out of <em>Sarah?</em>"</p><p>"Yeah, don't you—Oh, no, you'd gone home. It was the morning after her first night here. She'd gotten nice and full, so nature took its course, and because she'd been given a dose of ParaBane... Dead worms," Bucky says. His frown deepens as he realizes that the last set of X-rays on the page are for a cat at B-Garden named Pearl; he checks his email and finds that Dr Cho had included him when she'd sent copies of the X-rays to Marigot. "Here we go."</p><p>The films turn out to be huge, and upon zooming in, Bucky and Steve can see where a larger sibling got in the way and thus no one had noticed the seventh tiny skeleton nested just behind it. They also find all six of the expected kittens.</p><p>"Huh," Steve says, when Bucky closes the image and they check in with Branwen. "And you said that sometimes it can take a day to deliver all the kittens?"</p><p>"That's what the book says. It's not what usually happens, but it's not unheard of," Bucky says. "I wonder if it's more common in cats that have to go hunt? Giving birth is obviously exhausting, and I see that someone's eaten most of the food in Branwen's dish."</p><p>Steve gets his phone out and checks the stream, scrolling back through to see if he can find out which cat had been hungry. The answer was both, but Branwen had eaten the majority of what Steve had left for her. "Maybe so." Celeste had also left Branwen for a while, presumably to tend her own offspring.</p><p>"It's a reasonable-sounding theory," Bucky says. He adjusts the camera a little so that everyone has a good view of the little family from above, smiling a little at Celeste's continued purring. "Celeste is such a sweetheart."</p><p>"She really is," Steve says.</p><p>It's another solid 40 minutes or so of comfortable companionable quiet before Branwen delivers the final placenta, which she eats without enthusiasm but without the same air of discharging a duty she'd had with the fifth one. Bucky takes the collar over to the nest and gets the scale, warning Celeste before he opens the door again.</p><p>Celeste trills at him as usual, but instead of leaving the nest she moves up to sit by Branwen's head.</p><p>"Okay, I just need to check this new little one. I'll give 'em right back, I promise," Bucky says, slowly reaching in to pick up seventh kitten. Branwen hisses at him, more energetic than she's been in a few hours. The new kitten is male and weighs a mildly concerning 90 grams, but he's lively and not shy about wanting to be put down so he can go nurse. Once Bucky's got his collar on him, he holds the kitten in place against Branwen's belly until the kitten finds a nipple and latches on. Mission accomplished, Bucky leaves them be and goes to make notes, add the kitten to the spreadsheet, and text Marigot about the successful conclusion to the morning's adventure.</p><p> Steve makes up more food for Branwen and delivers it directly to her, earning himself a hiss. Again, she doesn't bother to wait for him to do more than draw his hand back before she's diving in; Steve hopes she won't choke in her haste. That done, he moves to stand near Bucky, waiting until the other man's done typing before he says, "What's next?"</p><p>"I need to finish cleaning up upstairs, and then I was going to take The Foodies on a trip to a new room," Bucky says. "Are you going back to Sarah and Chaundra?"</p><p>Checking his watch, Steve says, "Mm, no, it's pretty close to feeding time. I'll spend more time with them when I get done with that."</p><p>"Sure," Bucky says, closing his laptop. "See you later?"</p><p>"Later," Steve says with a quick smile. "Oh, hey, what do you want to do for dinner?"</p><p>"Don't know," Bucky says, leading the way out of the room. "I'll think about it."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Upstairs, the kittens wake up and greet Bucky's return with enthusiasm. They "help" with everything: Pebble sits in the dustpan as Bucky tries to sweep bits of litter, fluff, and stray kibbles into it; Dolmades and Basil take turns attacking his broom; <em>everyone</em> has to observe his litter-scooping technique (which he doesn't mind—they're the best overseers he's ever had by a long shot). Knish hops into the litter box and poops, immediately after Bucky is done. Of course. And that's to say nothing of the way they use him as a mobile climbing tree or chase his laces. Eventually he manages to get the room looking a little less like five kittens have been wreaking havoc in it and a little more like they live there.</p><p>"All right," he says to them, once he's come back from putting the bedding and towels into the hamper next door, "who wants to go on a field trip?"</p><p>The kittens are all very busy exploring the carrier he'd brought with him (and are cats besides), so they ignore him. Not having expected them to pay attention, he just kneels and gently starts herding them into the carrier; when they're all contained, he picks them up and carries them down to the adoption room.</p><p>The adoption room requires a key to open—there's a copy that hangs on a dedicated hook inside one of the cabinets in the kitchen—because it's generally reserved for what Bucky thinks of as capital-C company. It's a pretty standard living/dining room setup, with a big table and some chairs, as well as yet another sofa (this one somewhat nicer and upholstered in what he thinks is leather), a couple of shelves with books and unbreakable knick-knacks, an entertainment center with an older flat-screen television. Another coffee table sits on a big floral rug between the sofa and the TV, and there are a couple of free-standing lamps in the room to augment the overhead light.</p><p>Bucky lets the kittens out to explore, and they waste no time in discovering all of the places they can go. Pebble, ever the bravest, is the first to make it onto the coffee table, and from there she makes a valiant leap onto the sofa. The curve of the front of the cushion and the lack of purchase provided by the finish of the leather means she plops onto her bottom on the floor. Her failure sets her back only a moment as she gets her bearings; she gets herself back up onto the coffee table and tries again. Bucky grabs his phone and starts filming as she heads back to the table for a third attempt.</p><p>Knish and Basil start their exploration with the cubbies of the entertainment center, Knish poking his head down between the wall and the bottom-most part of the thing and then coming up with a toy mouse. Basil tries to steal it from him but Knish runs away, his sister hot on his heels. Dolmades and Piroshki are a little more cautious at first, slinking along the edge of the bookcase on the far side of the entertainment center... at least until Knish and Basil race by. Once their siblings have run up and down the length of the room a couple of times without coming to harm (other than one crashing into the other, anyway), Piroshki and Dolmades venture out toward the dining table.</p><p>And so it goes for the next 45 minutes: kittens climbing, wrestling, chasing, bouncing, clambering, jumping, getting stuck, and generally just being 800-gram balls of chaos. Bucky discovers that his phone will only record until the file gets to a particular size, then he has to start a new one; the kittens discover that they can fit under the sofa. Bucky then discovers that the kittens will scatter when he lifts said sofa to retrieve them, leaving him with only the dust bunnies (that didn't stick to the kittens) and a few toys for company. He grabs the toys, carefully lowers the sofa back into position, and is in time to catch Pebble <em>finally</em> making a successful jump from coffee table to sofa cushion.</p><p>When it's time to take them back upstairs, Bucky has to rescue Piroshki from the back of a dining chair—he has no idea how she was even balancing on the curve of it—and half-dig Dolmades out from under the throw pillows. The other three didn't exactly line up to be returned to the carrier, but they also didn't attempt to avoid him when he approached them. Back in their room, they all shoulder in around their food dishes and there's nothing but the sounds of eating for a couple of minutes. Bucky makes sure everything is in order before he leaves them with a 'see you later' over his shoulder.</p><p>He starts a load of laundry in the storage room washing machine, texts Marigot about the trip to the Adoption Room, sends a few of his favorite clips to the KittenPics group, then grabs his checklist so he can mark down what he'd done so far.</p><p>That night, Bucky realizes that he hadn't really noticed how <em>noisy</em> eleven newborn kittens and their mothers could be. His orphans had made noise, too, but it was almost always just as he was waking up to feed them anyway—nothing like this. Celeste and Branwen's kittens squeak, whine, and yowl, while Branwen and Celeste trill at them, at one another, possibly even at the moon for all Bucky knows.</p><p>While he normally appreciates the sounds—it means everyone is at least healthy and lively enough to make noise—they always seem to yank him up out of sleep. Again, he normally wouldn't mind too much, except that his brain interprets the pitch of the cries as <em>distress</em> every single time. Which means that he has to check, every single time. Sometimes the distress is real (being 150 grams of kitten smooshed by 4.5 kilos of mama is quite trying; at least the mama in question moves as soon as she realizes that she's squashing someone), sometimes it's just a kitten being indignant that a sibling has managed to dislodge them from their preferred nipple or that mama is giving them a bath. Bucky gives up around four in the morning and goes to sleep on the sofa in the library.</p><p>The sofa in the library is okay, not as bad as it could be but not as nice as a real bed, either. The second night he spends in the library, he realizes that he also misses his own space laid out just-so, even if he was sharing it with a bunch of cats... Bucky sighs and considers his options. He could go back to the attic, he could go back to sleeping in the same room as The Foodies, he could bunk on the floor in the room that Steve was in, he could rearrange the storage room upstairs so he could sleep in there. The only one that was remotely appealing was sleeping in Steve's room, though he didn't really want to sleep on the floor. Whatever, he had to wait until Steve was awake so they could talk about it. It wasn't an emergency.</p><p>Later that morning, Bucky is doing his usual morning weights for Celeste's kittens and realizes that Alpine's eyes are starting to open. Alpine makes her tiny objections to being held up to the camera known, but otherwise doesn't fight him. He repays her by putting her back as soon as he's gotten a couple of good pictures for himself (and KittenPics).</p><p>Branwen hisses when he opens the door to her nest for weights and collar checks, but only eyes him when he takes each kitten in turn—the dish of fresh wet food he pushes under her nose helps. Her kittens don't have names, yet, but he figures that Marigot will bring him a list as she did with Celste's.</p><p>Steve pokes his head into the kitchen where Bucky is doing after-lunch dishes. "Hey, Buck, I just got off the phone with Nat. Something weird's happening up in northern Canada."</p><p>"And... Oh. You have to go," Bucky says, turning off the water and turning to look at Steve.</p><p>"Yeah." There's a few moments of awkward silence as they stand there, looking at one another, before Steve says, "I..."</p><p>Bucky dries his hands on a dish towel, then crosses over to where Steve is managing to appear fidgety while standing still. "Be careful. If that's possible," he says, then holds his arms out, offering a hug.</p><p>"I can be careful," Steve says, his annoyed tone all show. He hugs Bucky, holding him close and tight. "I <em>will</em> be careful," he adds, softly. "Chaundra would miss me."</p><p>"Ugh, you're terrible," Bucky tells him, but he holds on just as firmly. "Miss daydreaming about biting you, maybe."</p><p>"Probably," Steve says, reluctantly letting go. "I've got to go over to Oakdale. I'll keep you updated as much as I can."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, doing the same. "You'll get plenty of kitten content from me."</p><p>"Good," Steve says with a smile. He takes a breath and straightens up a little. "Take care. I'll be back as soon as I can."</p><p>"Go on, get out of here," Bucky says, making shooing motions at him.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," Steve says, and then he's gone, out of sight, out of the house, out of the drive.</p><p>Bucky waits until even he can't hear the sound of Steve's truck any more before he gets back to loading the dishwasher.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>That night, Bucky takes his phone, laptop, and the table from the kitten room upstairs to what he's been thinking of as Steve's room, setting everything up on the other side of the bed from the table Steve has been using as a nightstand. Once that's done and he's gone through his nightly routine of a perimeter check while brushing his teeth, he changes into the obscenely soft sleep clothes to which Natalia had introduced him and settled into the bed. Lying there, surrounded by the scent of Steve, was almost as good as having the man there... And if Bucky had been awake for it, he'd have been surprised at how quickly he falls asleep.</p><p>Bucky doesn't stay asleep, awakened by his right arm beginning to regain sensation—he must have been lying on it wrong—and some of his usual vague but still upsetting dreams. Following the recommendations of both his therapist and one of his books, he gets up and goes downstairs to get a glass of water. The idea is to mitigate any anxiety caused by the possibility of having another nightmare by focusing the brain on something else for a few minutes, then repeating the last couple of steps of one's nightly routine before returning to bed and trying to sleep again. For Bucky, that means he brushes his teeth and conducts another check of the doors and windows. He and Anikó had worked out the idea of checking while brushing as a way to placate his paranoia while also not giving in to it. Two minutes of cleaning his teeth was plenty of time for someone like him to make sure everything was locked and latched. His ritual completed and security concerns allayed, he returns to bed and easily drifts off.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky isn't sure if it's Steve's absence that's making everything feel off, or if it's just one of those days. It starts with pouring coffee half into his mug and half onto the counter—because he was looking at his phone instead of paying attention to what he was doing—and discovering that they were out of all dairy intended for human consumption aside from butter. He briefly contemplates using some of the kitten formula, recalls how much it costs per unit, and shakes his head at himself. Adding some chocolate syrup helps to mitigate the bitterness of the coffee and he gets started on his day.</p><p>Morning weigh-in with Celeste's kittens goes perfectly, because Celeste adores him unconditionally. Branwen, on the other hand, does not appreciate the fact that he didn't bring her anything to eat and actually attempts to bite him. Fortunately for her, she only manages to get hold of his left sleeve, thereby avoiding possibly chipping a tooth on his metal arm. Bucky is deeply relieved to see that the last kitten born has gained weight—6 grams!—since his last check. The drama of weighing over with, he enters the numbers into the spreadsheet before he swaps empty food bowls for full in both nests. The room is still relatively tidy, since neither Branwen nor Celeste has left their kittens for longer than a trip to the litter box, a long drink of water, or the occasional foray to the dish full of kibble.</p><p>Upstairs, on the other hand, is yet another riotous mess of rumpled blankets, scattered toys, an overturned food dish, and escaped litter, all of which are signs of happy, healthy kittens. Bucky greets everyone with petting and brief cuddles, then starts the somewhat arduous process of straightening up. It isn't so much the tasks themselves that are difficult, but rather that his five supervisors make a point of inspecting everything he does. While that's fine when it comes to blankets and toys, it's less helpful when it comes to sweeping. Since the broom and the dustpan are rendered almost unusable thanks to kitten curiosity, Bucky decides that it's time to introduce the vacuum.</p><p>Working from the information in <em>KITTENS!</em> in the <em>New Experiences</em> section, he brings the vacuum into the room to let the kittens check it out before he turns it on. Bucky doesn't particularly like it, despite its usefulness in terms of cleaning—it's designed to be held much the way a gun is, and there's a trigger mechanism that has to be pulled/held down in order to activate the motor. The noise isn't bad, even for his hearing, and it's easy to use. It just... It feels <em>wrong</em>, to hold something like a gun and pull a trigger, especially around the kittens.</p><p>Once everyone has taken a turn at sniffing at least part of the vacuum, Bucky shows them how it moves. Piroshki and Dolmades retreat, Knish and Basil stay close to Bucky's feet, and the ever-confident Pebble tries pouncing on the brushroll.</p><p>"Okay, everyone, I'm going to turn it on. Don't be scared, it won't hurt you." He tries to keep his voice light and reassuring, hoping the tone will get through even if the words won't. Bucky takes a deep breath and squeezes the trigger.</p><p>Dolmades and Piroshki squish themselves into the smallest, tightest hiding place they can find; Basil and Knish freeze up, and Pebble stands her ground until the brushroll moves toward her. She puffs up, arching her back and her tail, mouth open as she presumably hisses at the intruder; as Bucky draws the vacumm back, she prances sideways at it. Bucky carefully manuevers the vacuum away from Pebble so that he can fulfill his original objective of cleaning up, though he can't help but smile as she continues to feint at it. Surprisingly, Piroshki is the first of the others to venture out, keeping Pebble between herself and the frightening addition to their room. Knish follows, then Basil, while Dolmades stays hidden. Just as Bucky's almost done with the spilled food, Pebble darts forward and swats the housing of the brushroll before dancing backward in her arched-spine posture.</p><p>When he's done, he puts the vacuum down so they can inspect it again, then sits down beside it so he can pet and praise everyone.</p><p>"Good job," he says, skritching Pebble's chin as she climbs up onto his leg. "Yeah, you did really well, good work," Bucky says to Knish. When Dolmades emerges from his hiding place, Bucky praises him, too, and scoops him up for a cuddle. Dolmades puts up with it for about thirty seconds before he starts to wriggle, wanting down so he can go play with his siblings. Bucky lets him go, giving the others a cuddle when they come within reach and letting them go when they signal they've had enough.</p><p>When Bucky picks up the vacuum to return it to the storage room, the kittens freeze; as soon as they realize that it—and Bucky—are going away, they follow him. They leave a bit of space between themselves and the vacuum, however, so Bucky escapes without a kitten (or five) clinging to him. Now that the floor is cleaner, he spreads the blankets back out and scatters the toys across them in hopes of distracting the kittens as he finishes his morning chores with them.</p><p>Once he's done upstairs, he goes back down to check in on the new families—Celeste is snoozing in her own nest with her kittens contentedly nursing or napping themselves; Branwen is finishing up the food in her dish while her kittens sleep in a pile—then suits up to spend some time with Sarah and Chaundra.</p><p>Sarah is, as Steve had said, an entirely different kitten than when she'd arrived. Her little body is beginning to round out as she packs away her food, her face is almost always clean, and the swelling in her eyes has gone down significantly. Bucky checks her chart and notes it's time for eye drops, so he rounds up the supplies he needs and settles on the floor so he can give her the medication.</p><p>"Hey, beautiful," Bucky says as he lifts her away from the food dish. "I know, I'm sorry. I just need to give you your drops and then you can go back to your elevenses, okay? Won't take a minute, doll."</p><p>Sarah is not enthusiastic about having her very important business interrupted, but she only makes a minor fuss over the whole procedure, turning her head but not otherwise attempting to escape.</p><p>"Your eyes look so much better, and I bet they feel better, too. Okay, sweetheart, you're all done," Bucky says, and sets her down by her dish.</p><p>As with most cats, Sarah is mostly made of contrariness covered in fluff, so she climbs back into Bucky's lap before he can get up to put the eyedrops away and make a note on her chart.</p><p>"Oh? All right, then, we can cuddle." Bucky gets his hands underneath her and cradles her against his chest, smiling as she begins to purr. Chaundra pokes her head out of the cat-sized door of the nest cabinet, regarding Bucky suspiciously but without hissing or growling. After a few minutes, Chaundra actually slinks out of the cabinet and skirts around the outside of the room on her way over to the litterbox. She keeps her attention focused firmly on Bucky as she does what she needs to do, then leaps from the floor to the top of the six-foot-tall cat shelves in a single bound. (The shelves are a tall section and a shorter section stuck together side by side, made of easy-to-disinfect plastic with blankets set on each of the five platforms.)</p><p>"Well, look at you," Bucky says, impressed; he is not at all surprised when Chaundra turns her back on him and sets about having a bath. Turning his attention back to Sarah, he settles her into the crook of his right arm and opens <em>The Planet We Live On </em>with his left hand, picking up where he left off in the entry on metamorphic rocks.</p><p>Sarah naps for a little while, then gets down and pats at a fuzzy blue thing that turns out to be... Well, Bucky's pretty sure it's supposed to be a worm or a snake or something like that. It's attached to a bit of cord which in turn is attached to a plastic rod; Sarah perks up when his investigation makes the blue thing move. She has enough energy to chase the very wiggly blue thing back and forth a few times before she has to curl up at Bucky's hip and go back to sleep.  </p><p>"You're feeling better every day, aren't you, beautiful? Pretty soon you'll be as full of spit'n'vinegar as the other kittens," he says, putting his hand down to rest against her back. He keeps reading aloud in a bid to help Chaundra get at least sort-of acclimated to people; when he hears the feeding station volunteers pull up, he marks Sarah's chart and then starts the decontamination procedure so he can check in with them.</p><p>After lunch in Branwen and Celeste's room, he checks his lists against the time and decides he has enough time before his appointment with Anikó that he can sneak a little nap in. He takes his phone with him to the library and sets an alarm, then lies down and closes his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"...Is there anything else you'd like to talk about today?" Anikó says, once they'd covered the work he'd done.</p><p>"Um, well..." Bucky exhales, then closes his eyes. "I... The night before last, I remembered something. From...before I, I got captured. The second time, and isn't that a kick in the teeth?" It's not really funny, and it's not really amusement that he feels, but it's also <em>not</em> not funny. "Point is, I remembered. I have a... friend. Steve. And we both knew this woman, um..." He turns over potential aliases, <em>Peg</em> and <em>Margie</em> and <em>Greta</em> and finally goes with Margie. "Margie. And she's a hell of a woman, the kind of woman that... That needs someone with a matching kind of fire. And I remembered how she and Steve were, were that kind of match. I remembered I didn't like it."</p><p>"I see. Sounds like you might have been experiencing some jealousy? Over the fact that she was taking Steve's attention from you?"</p><p>Another huff of not-really-amused amusement, then Bucky says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Thing is, Margie's... Margie's still...alive. And... And I don't think—I'm not sure, but I don't think that they're... That there's anything there. Between them. Any more. But he's gone to see her, and... I felt weird. When he told me about it. Her."</p><p>Anikó hums, then says, "So you're still feeling some jealousy, despite the fact that there's no...romantic? relationship?"</p><p>"A little," Bucky admits, because looking back at the conversation about Peggy he can see that yes, he was jealous. "And it's <em>stupid,</em> especially now, because she's, she's... She's not a threat, and I don't even know what the hell she's threatening because it's not like I can—I mean, Steve's not—" He cuts himself off, unsure of how much he could or should say.</p><p>"Steve's not... Aware that you might have some, let's say, more than platonic feelings toward him?" Anikó says, her voice as gentle as always.</p><p>"Hell, <em>I</em> didn't know," Bucky says, running his right hand through his hair. "I mean, maybe? I don't... God, it's been... It's been so long, too long, since I even thought about...anything like that. Going with someone. And I know it's not—Being queer, it's not like it was when I was a kid, but I don't even know if I am or not."</p><p>"Okay," Anikó says, "that's... This is one of the topics that I'm unfortunately <em>not</em> qualified to help you with, not outside of reassuring you that whatever point you occupy in the X-Y axis of sexuality, you're fine. However, I've got a colleague who specializes in exactly this kind of thing, and I'm sending you an email with their contact information right now."</p><p>"People specialize in helping other people figure out if they're queer?" Bucky's staring at the bookcase across from him, but he's not really seeing it. "What a world."</p><p>"Humans are good at messing with one another's heads," Anikó says, over the sounds of typing. "Especially when it comes to things that, in my own <em>personal</em>, not professional, opinion, should be pretty straightforward. I have a small rant about that, but I won't go into it while we're supposed to be talking about you. Okay, that's on its way to you now."</p><p>Bucky grunts and shakes his head. "Don't I fuckin' know it," he says, feeling grim. He does his best to lighten up, however. "Thank you."</p><p>"Me too," Anikó says, then huffs out a breath. "You're quite welcome, and I hope they can help you. In the meantime, I do want to say that there's love involved in all good friendships. If Steve is being a good, healthy friend, then there's love for you on his side, too."</p><p>Was Steve a good friend? "I think he is," Bucky says, slowly, thinking over the last few months. "He's... He's not mean, and he lets me make my own choices, and he's told me some of his secrets..."</p><p>"Not trying to control you or your decisions is definitely a good thing," Anikó says. "From what little you've mentioned of Steve, he seems like a decent person."</p><p>"He can be a real pill, sometimes," Bucky says, but his voice is warm. "Usually when he's noticed something's not right, or not fair."</p><p>"He likes to stand up for the little guy?"</p><p>That gets an honest laugh out of him. "Oh, yeah. Does he ever. And I know he's not perfect—sometimes if he gets set on something it's hell trying to get him to see other sides. And he leaves his socks everywhere. But he's a good guy."</p><p>"It sounds like it. Okay, we're almost out of time—any questions or concerns?"</p><p>"No, not right now," Bucky says, after a moment of consideration.</p><p>"Okay. You know the drill—call if you do and I'll get back to you as soon as I can," Anikó says.</p><p>"Yes, ma'am."</p><p>"All right. You've done some good work, Jay. Take care and I'll talk to you next week."</p><p>"Thank you, you too." Bucky feels wrung out as he ends the call. It's a good feeling, though, like he'd run ten miles or sparred with a well-matched opponent. Maybe he should take up running, just to move? He'll think about it later. He checks his email and finds that Anikó is the only one who has sent him anything in the last few hours; he also sees that he's gotten a text from Steve.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>To: Bucky (🐝 🐈)<br/>Canada is very big. Fortunately there are no<br/>equally large grasshoppers. We're all safe<br/>and the mission is going well. Missing you<br/>all, especially since neither you or the cats<br/>make me sit through hours of the bureaucratic<br/>process in action. Or inaction. Ha. </em>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>Did you know that if you search for the<br/>phrase 'canada is very big' you get this?</em>
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    <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhiDILWFXBE"> <em>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhiDILWFXBE</em> </a>
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    <em>I didn't understand what they meant by Russia<br/>shrinking so I had to look that up, and then<br/>the next thing I knew it was an hour and a<br/>half later and I was reading about thixotropy. </em>
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    <em>To: Bucky (🐝 🐈)<br/>Wow. I ended up learning what a 'taymoo' is--<br/>turns out it's Teemu, and the first name of Teemu<br/>Selanne, a hockey player from Finland. </em>
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    <em>😆 Wikipedia is a menace!<br/>Ugh, now I have to go have dinner with people<br/>who are not as interesting as cats. Or worms.</em>
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    <em>To: Steve R<br/>Aw. 😿 Well, so few people are<br/>more interesting than cats. 😆<br/></em>
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    <em>It is! I have to go be interesting to cats now.<br/>Good luck with your dinner.</em>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just before he starts rounding up The Foodies for another field trip, Bucky's phone rings. "Hello?"</p><p>"Hi, Jay," Marigot says, "I'm calling to let you know that I've got The Foodies scheduled for spays and neuters not this Thursday but next, provided they're all big enough."</p><p>Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, reminding himself that the adoption process was necessary and good for the present kittens as well as future kittens. "Right. Okay. They should be, given the way they've been eating."</p><p>"You've done a great job with them, Jay," she says, voice soft. "I'm really proud of you, and I hope you're proud of yourself, too."</p><p>"Oh, um... Um, Thank you," Bucky says, after few long moments of feeling bewildered. "I do. But you, your book, that helped. Mission-critical intel available at a moment's notice guaranteed a successful mission outcome." He winces at that. "I don't think I'd have been able to do much without the kitten book."</p><p>Marigot hums, then says, "Sure, the book helped with the stuff you didn't already know, but you made the choice to do more than look after them until someone came by the house and could take over. You got up in the middle of the night for them, kept them clean and warm and fed, played with them, were there for them when it was time to eat new food and go potty by themselves and see new things. And I know I kind of...ordered you into being a part of this, of us, Feral to Family, because of the way you'd cared for them. If... If, after they've been adopted, if it's time for us to say goodbye to you, too... That's okay. I understand completely if this is your first and last litter with us."</p><p>"I..." Bucky's throat is tight, his eyes prickling a little. "I, um. I haven't decided. I've been busy, but, but I will."</p><p>"Okay. I mean it, though, if you know you need to be somewhere else, to do other things, that's fine. We'll miss you, but this work is hard and it's not for everyone." She clears her throat. "But if it's what you want to do, you're more than welcome to stay."</p><p>"Thank you," he says, fighting the lump in his own throat. "That... That's very kind. I, um. I'll remember that."</p><p>"Good. Okay. I'll let you go—I have to go find out what that crashing sound was. Take care, Jay."</p><p>"Good luck," Bucky says, having heard the noise in the background. "Thanks. You too." He heaves a massive sigh and sinks down to sit on the floor, whereupon the kittens immediately start climbing all over him. A few minutes of cuddles and skritches and teasing them helps settle his mind, if not the ache in his chest at the reminder that he's down to days with these kittens. About 21, if his math was right. Maybe a few days more or less than that, but only a few.</p><p>Eventually, his circular thoughts can't stand up to the onslaught of cuteness presented by the cats and he succumbs to the temptation to just lie down and doze for a little while. It doesn't last long—the kittens decide that if he's on the floor, he must be as much of a toy as anything else. They play with his hair, use every part of him as a springboard or part of an obstacle course, and bite anything that they can get their little jaws around. The third time Knish uses his belly as a landing pad, jumping from the top of the short combination scratching tree and bed, Bucky sits up and says, "Okay, let's go on an adventure!"</p><p> </p><p>
  
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    <em>To: KittenPics<br/>Marigot warned me about this. I listened. I believed. <br/>It happened anyway. Pebble is always 1st to look at <br/>new things, the toilet is no exception. She didn't care <br/>about the noise when I flushed it, either, just crouched <br/>on the seat and watched. Then she walked around in <br/>the bowl when it was refilling and got wet. 🙄 😬 💦<br/></em>
    <em>[clip033.mov]</em>
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    <em>To: KittenPics<br/></em>
    <em>Pebble didn't want me to pick her up after. She squirmed so <br/>much (and bit me!) that... <br/></em>
    <em>...she fell in. And then she was happy? <br/>😕<br/>[clip034.mov]</em>
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    <em>To: Bucky (🐝 🐈)<br/></em>
    <em>Oh Pebble. What are we going to do with you? </em>
    <em>🤣<br/>Clint and Bruce thought it was hilarious.<br/><br/>Pretty sure Tony's mostly faking his annoyance.</em>
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    <em>To: Bucky (Bee Cat)<br/>P.S. I should be back in time for dinner. I'll sched<br/>pizza for not too long after I get there &amp; tell you<br/>all about Our Big Canadian Adventure. (Sneak<br/>preview: polar bears are very very large.)</em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>😍 😻 🥰 💖<br/>My crops are watered, my skin is clear, I am given life by this.</em>
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    <em>To: 🕷 🔪<br/>???? 😕</em>
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    <em>To: Yasha<br/>It's a meme. Don't worry about it.</em>
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    <em>To: 🕷 🔪<br/>You're...welcome?</em>
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  <p><em>To: Yasha</em><br/>💞 💗 💝 ❣️</p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Steve does indeed get back to Jellybean House ahead of the pizza. Bucky meets him at the front door and they hug, Bucky getting the same sensation of things getting back to where they belong as the embrace goes on. Pizza arrives about 10 minutes later, and they settle into the library to eat and chat.</p><p>"So we're out on the beach, looking for the entrance to the lab, and I see what I think is a dog. It's kind of trotting toward us, and I'm feeling a little better because hey, a dog. It's not barking at us, and it doesn't look aggressive," Steve says, gesturing away from himself with his slice of pizza. I turn to Clint to see if he's noticed the dog and yeah, he has, but he doesn't look nearly as excited as I'm expecting him to look."</p><p>"Oh boy," Bucky says, mouth twisting a little. "It wasn't a dog, was it."</p><p>"It was <em>not</em> a dog. It was a polar bear. It was probably a <em>young</em> polar bear, and one that didn't know it was supposed to be afraid of people, so it came over to see what we were doing." Steve eats some of his slice, shaking his head as he remembered the event. "And even for a young bear, it was big. Eight feet, maybe? When it was standing on its hind legs? Its nose was about level with my neck. And cold and wet."</p><p>"Christ Jesus and all the saints," Bucky breathes. "What the hell was it doing, sticking its nose up against your neck?"</p><p>"Sniffing me! It felt really weird. It bit Tony's arm, though, which was pretty funny," Steve says, smiling about it. "He didn't think so. There wasn't any damage—I think the bear was just trying to figure out whether his suit was edible."</p><p>"At least you didn't go looking for the bear, I guess," Bucky says, shaking his head. "How long did it stick around?"</p><p>"Not much longer after that," Steve says with a shrug. "It licked Clint, gave Nat a suspicious look, and then went off down the beach."</p><p>"Licked—" Bucky couldn't help laughing at that. "Wow. That's amazing. Did you ever find the lab?"</p><p>"Yeah, but only because something happened and it kind of exploded," Steve says, slumping back into the cushions and holding up his third slice from the second pizza. "It's being investigated to see if it was an accident or deliberate."</p><p>"And once it went up, you got to come home," Bucky says, not really thinking about his words.</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says, his voice and expression both kind of soft as he looks at Bucky. "I did." Then he stuffs half his pizza into his mouth and says, "Wha' e'se did'oo do t'day, 'sides ge' peb'l outta th'toi'et?"</p><p>"Ugh, don't talk with your mouth full, what would your mother say?" Bucky says, rolling his eyes and bumping his foot into Steve's. "Mostly today was normal. Oh, I did introduce the kittens to the vacuum." He goes on to recount the story, complete with gestures and, by the end of it, a real smile.</p><p>"I'm sorry I missed it," Steve says, much more clearly. "Sounds like a typical day around here, though."</p><p>"Mostly," Bucky says, his happiness fading as he remembered the other thing that happened. "Oh, and Marigot called. She said... She said, as long as the kittens are big enough, they're going to go to the clinic next week. On Thursday. They'll have their operations, and then..."</p><p>"Then they'll be adopted," Steve says, when Bucky can't finish the sentence. "Okay. Uh... I'll be here. If you want me to."</p><p>"Yeah." Bucky nods, picking at a bubble in the crust he holds. "Yeah, that'd be... I'd, um, appreciate it."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"She said... She also told me that if, if I have to say goodbye, too, that's okay," Bucky says a minute later. "She'll understand if this is my first and last litter for Feral to Family."</p><p>Steve hums, acknowledgement and encouragement in one.</p><p>"I don't know. This... Being here, spending time with these cats, it's been... I don't know what would have happened to me if that person hadn't left the kittens on the porch," Bucky says, quiet. He's not sure what else he wants to say, so he lets the silence go on.</p><p>"Probably wouldn't be having this conversation," Steve says, just as quietly. "It's kind of weird to want to thank someone and kick them in the ass at the same time. That person dumped those kittens without any kind of guarantee that they'd be safe, but because they did, here we are."</p><p>"I know," Bucky says, then shifts around on the couch so he can lean into Steve's shoulder. "I'm gonna think about it, though. A future. My future. What I want it to be."</p><p>"Good," Steve says, leaning into Bucky as much as Bucky leans into him. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>As they finish up the nightly chores, Bucky realizes that he'd been busy enough that he hadn't done anything about his sleeping arrangements. Well, no time like the present. "Hey, Steve?"</p><p>"Yeah?" Steve says, looking over from where he's washing his hands at the kitchen sink.</p><p>"I...can't sleep in the kitten room, any more. The kittens—Branwen and Celeste are great mothers, they're not neglecting anyone, but the babies make a lot of noises that my brain translates into 'this is an emergency' when it isn't one at all." Bucky shifts, dropping his gaze to the floor and notices that Steve's in just his socks. "I've, um—"</p><p>"You wanna bunk together? I wouldn't mind," Steve says, turning off the water and reaching for the dish towel on the counter nearby. "I'd wondered about the other table when I went up to put my bag in my room."</p><p>"I—" Bucky blinks a couple of times, looking at Steve again. There's nothing but Steve's usual waiting-for-an-answer expression on his face, and the words had sounded...normal? Or at least like there wasn't anything more to it than a genuine offer. And he <em>had</em> been intending to ask about at least sharing the room, so this was perfect. "Yeah. As long as you don't mind."</p><p>"I don't mind at all," Steve says, folding the towel and putting it back. "Okay, cats are fed and watered, boxes are clean, trash is out in the bin, night lights are on, all other lights are off, dishes are in the dishwasher, last loads of laundry are in the dryers. I think that's everything."</p><p>Bucky finds his checklist and ticks off the official chores, then slips it into the folder where he'd started keeping them. "Just the usual perimeter checks to do, but that's in a minute," he says. "I'm not sure where it'll fit, but I'll bring at least my mattress upstairs." He goes out into the hallway, frowning as he thinks about the layout of Steve's room.</p><p>"Your mattress—I don't think there's any room for it, Buck. Not where it won't be in the way, anyhow," Steve says, following him and frowning too. "We can just share the bed, it'll be fine. Nothing we haven't done before."</p><p>"Are you sure?" Bucky... He's not sure where his apprehension is coming from. It's not the idea of spending more time so close to Steve—the physical contact between them has been grounding, settling something inside himself that he hadn't realized was agitated—but... Well, it might be something simple. "You think we'll fit?"</p><p>"Probably," Steve says, confident in the way of people who have no actual idea.</p><p>"What if one of us has a nightmare?" Bucky says, more curious than argumentative.</p><p>"We'll get through it," Steve says, heading for the stairs. "Did you move all of your stuff upstairs?"</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says. There's not much he can do about it beforehand, and it's not like he knows what he's worried about anyway. "No, just my power cables. I'll be up in a few minutes."</p><p>"Sure," Steve says, and goes off to start his own routine.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Settling into bed with Steve feels familiar. Bucky knows Steve had mentioned that they'd shared before, but whether that was before everything or before their respective ends during the war he had no idea. Still, it was nice to lie beside Steve and read for a few minutes before his eyes grew heavy and he couldn't stop yawning. Giving in, Bucky checks his alarm, checks the video feeds, then sets everything aside. "G'night, Stevie."</p><p>"'Night, Buck," Steve says. "Will the lamp bother you if I read a little longer?"</p><p>"Shouldn't," Bucky mumbles, turning onto his side away from both Steve and the light. If Steve replies, he doesn't hear it.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Steve wakes to the feeling of Bucky shaking beside him. He props himself up on his arm, weighing the pros and cons of reaching out to touch; deciding against it for the moment, he says, "Buck? Bucky, you awake?"</p><p>"Yeah," Bucky says, his voice wavering. He's not distressed, though, and he turns to lie on his back.</p><p>"You okay?" Steve's still a little concerned, not sure how to interpret the sound of the other man's voice.</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, it was just—" Bucky huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "I was having this dream, probably because I'd been—Okay, so I told you about vacuuming. Later, while I was updating kitten weights, I was thinking about how I'd never been trained for laundry or vacuuming or spreadsheets. Apparently, my brain took that idea and—" he broke off to actually snicker. "I was dreaming I was the soldier, but, but instead of killing anyone—"</p><p>Steve waits for Bucky to go on, delighted by the fact that Bucky keeps being interrupted by laughter.</p><p>"I wasn't killing anyone. I was, ugh, I was at Pierce's house. Full tac gear, including guns and knives, masked and mission-ready. But I was also, God, thank you, brain, I was also wearing a pink apron. With ruffles all around the edges. And dusting, dusting...little...things. Knick-knacks."</p><p>And then they're both laughing, enjoying the absurdity; they laugh until they have to swipe at their eyes.</p><p>"Oh," Steve says, "oh, that's—Wow. That's something else, Buck."</p><p>Bucky laughs again, then says, "Just think of it: some low-level agent misinterpreting 'send The Winter Soldier to clean house'," which sets them off again.</p><p>When Steve can speak, he says, "You should definitely tell Nat about this."</p><p>"Yes," Bucky says, grinning for a moment as he imagines her reaction to the story. He checks the time and adds, "But not at almost four AM."</p><p>"No," Steve agrees, then yawns. "Mm."</p><p>"Go back to sleep," Bucky says. "I need a drink of water and then I'll be back to sleep, too."</p><p>"'Kay," Steve says, already halfway there. </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Later that same morning, Bucky answers a call from Marigot. "Hi, Marigot."</p><p>"Hi, Jay. A winner has been declared in the naming polls for Branwen's kittens, so I'll be over in about...half an hour? Forty-five minutes? To do an introductions video. If that's okay?"</p><p>"It's fine with me," Bucky says, "it's Branwen who'll object."</p><p>Marigot makes an amused sound. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, great. I'll see you guys soon."</p><p>"Sure," Bucky says. "Take care."</p><p>"Will do!"</p><p>A little over half an hour later, Marigot lets herself in. "Jay? Steve?"</p><p>"Hey," Steve says, popping out of the kitchen. "Jay's upstairs with The Foodies, but he'll be down in a moment."</p><p>"Oh, hi," she says, "okay. Thanks."</p><p>"I was just getting some wet food for Branwen, if you want to come say hello to her. I'm sure Celeste would be happy to see you, too," Steve says, tilting his head back toward the kitchen.</p><p>"Sure," Marigot says, following as he heads through the archway into the other room.</p><p>"Here I am," Bucky says, coming down the stairs and following Marigot into the kitchen. "Hello."</p><p>"Hi," Marigot says, and the three of them troop into the kitten room.</p><p>Celeste pokes her head out of her nest when she hears them, then hops out and trots over to greet everyone.</p><p>"Oh, wow, you look so much better," Marigot tells her as she runs a hand down Celeste's back. "You were gorgeous to start with, but you're getting your fur back and you're even prettier."</p><p>Celeste purrs and rubs her face against Marigot's hand.</p><p>There's some squeaking from Celeste's nest, a faint scrabbling, and Rallie's—Chaparral's—little face peeks out from the door for a few moments before disappearing. Steve elbows Bucky, almost vibrating. "Did you see that?"</p><p>"What?" Bucky goes on alert, sweeping the room for danger from ceiling to floor.</p><p>"Rallie got herself up far enough to look out of the cat-door," Steve says, pointing at the portal in question. "Not for very long, though." Rallie is the first of Celeste's kittens to have realized that there was an 'inside' and an 'outside'; they'd caught the moment when she'd pawed at the cabinet doors, trying to get them to open for her.</p><p>"Oh, wow," Marigot says, looking up from Celeste. "That's great. Most of them have eyes, now, right?"</p><p>"They all have eyes," Bucky says, mildly confused. Then her meaning clicks and he adds, "Oh. Yes, everyone's eyes are open. I think a few of them are starting to hear, too."</p><p>"Excellent," Marigot says. "Okay, you beautiful mama, I really need to do what I came here to do." She gives Celeste a last chin skritch and stands up so she can go over to Branwen's nest.</p><p>Celeste just follows, winding her way around various legs.</p><p>"Thank you," Bucky says to Celeste when she nearly trips him. "You know we can't feed you if you make us break our necks, right?"</p><p>Celeste, in the tradition of cats everywhere, ignores the admonishment and continues getting underfoot.</p><p>"That's what I thought," Bucky tells her, then kneels by Branwen's nest.</p><p>"Here," Steve says, holding the dish of food out to Bucky. "I'll do my best to distract Celeste."</p><p>"Thanks," Marigot says, folding herself down beside Bucky.</p><p>"Good luck," Bucky says, though he knows that Celeste loves Steve and will probably happily snuggle with him. He opens the door nearest himself and finds himself looking directly at Branwen, who hisses at him before almost immediately focussing her attention on the bowl in his hand. "Hey, sweetheart. If I give you this, will you let us borrow your babies for a minute or two?"</p><p>Branwen tracks the movement of the dish as he sets it in front of her, then sets to the moment it's within reach.</p><p>"I'm going to take that as a yes," Marigot says, getting her camera ready. "Okay, so the idea that won was the printed word, since mostly it's black-and-white. After that, it was a heated debate over what sort of printed matter would be appropriate, and it was agreed that authors or characters were all overdone and kind of boring. Instead, the consensus was stuff related to words, and I have a whole list to choose from."</p><p>"That sounds like a lot of work," Steve says, from where he's giving Celeste's kittens some floor time on a fleece blanket.</p><p>"We let the chatters and commenters suggest and vote on name themes about seventy-five percent of the time," Marigot says, "but with bigger litters, people tend to go with things like the continents, the seven cardinal virtues—"</p><p>"Prudence, justice, temperance, fortitude, faith, hope, and charity," Steve says; Bucky's reciting them too, half a beat behind, his face scrunched up in confusion.</p><p>"Grew up Catholic?" Marigot says with a smile.</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says, his face going a little pink.</p><p>"Apparently," Bucky says with a shrug.</p><p>"Ah. Sometimes people suggest the deadly sins—" She pauses to see if they'll recite them, then goes on when they don't. "Seven wonders of the world, colors of the rainbow, the dwarves. Continents are about the only one we've considered allowing, but mostly we try to come up with something else, something unique. Which is how we've come to this." Marigot gets her phone out and taps at it a few times. "Dot, Dash, Tittle, Jot, Star, Caret, Cedilla, Tilde, Caron, and Ampersand."</p><p>"I...have never heard of most of those," Steve says, tickling Heath's tummy.</p><p>"Me either," Bucky says. "Carrot? That's just a word, isn't it?"</p><p>"I had to look up most of them," Marigot says. "The dots over the letter I and J is known as a tittle, the little upside-down V you get when you press shift-six on your keyboard is the caret—" She spells it out. "—A cedilla is the squiggle under the C in the word façade, the tilde is the wave over the N in the word jalapeño, and a caron is a tiny V over an S or a Z in various languages."</p><p>"Huh," Bucky says, taking it all in.</p><p>"I had no idea that looking after cats would be so educational," Steve says, returning Rallie to her siblings—she'd clambered over his thigh and looked like she was thinking about setting off across the floor, despite the fact that she's still crawling—and then petting Savannah. "I've learned that it's possible to milk a cat and now I know what a cedilla is."</p><p>"It's amazing what working with cats will teach you," Marigot says, still smiling. "Okay, now the hard part: deciding who's who."</p><p>"Cedilla sounds like a fancy name for a fancy kitten," Bucky says, not sure if Marigot is asking him to name the kittens.</p><p>"It does," she agrees. "Would you like to hand out the names this time, too?"</p><p>"I can," Bucky says, nodding at her.</p><p>"Okay, go ahead."</p><p>Bucky takes a deep breath, reminding himself that this is not a mission, and even if it was, there's no way to fail. He exhales slowly, looking over the kittens as he considers the list of names Marigot had reeled off. "So, Cedilla is a fancy kitten, a fancy-pants kitten. That's Green, who was born fourth. And then... Tittle makes me think of tiny, and the dot over an I or a J is tiny, so Blue can be Tittle—he's the smallest so far. Um... Pink seems like a Jot, since jotting is the biggest of all of them and so's she. Then... Orange is Star, White and Purple are Dot and Dash, and Red is Tilde."</p><p>"Great!" Marigot holds up her camera. "If you'll hold them up so I can get pictures, then we'll do the introduction video, I can get out of your hair in no time."</p><p>"Okay. Birth order?" Bucky says.</p><p>"That works," she says.</p><p>Bucky holds the kittens up in order, each of them complaining a little as he handles them; Branwen doesn't appreciate the way he's making her babies squeak, but she only glares at him. By the time the video is almost done, Branwen is back to hissing at him every time he moves. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I promise that I'll leave you all alone until tonight's weigh-in," he tells her as he puts Jot back, then reaches for Tittle.</p><p>Branwen, unimpressed by his declaration, swipes at his hand and draws blood.</p><p>"Ow," Bucky says, but doesn't lose his hold on Tittle. He holds the kitten up so Marigot gets a good shot, then puts him back. "Okay, we're all done. I'll leave you alone, now, beautiful."</p><p>The three of them reconvene in the kitchen, where Bucky is washing his hands.</p><p>"Was it a bad scratch?" Marigot says.</p><p>"No," Bucky says, drying his hands with some paper towel; he looks at the back of his right hand, then shows it to Marigot. "I don't think she was trying to grab me. More of an accident than anything."</p><p>"Oh, yeah, that's not bad at all," she says, eyeing the thin pink line. "Okay, well, I should get back to HQ so I can get this edited and posted. Thanks again for your help, Jay. And yours, Steve."</p><p>"You're welcome," Steve and Bucky say, almost in chorus.</p><p>"See you later," she says, and heads out.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>After dinner, Bucky settles in on the couch in the library with his laptop. Anikó had suggested keeping a journal in order to track how he slept, mood changes, and any significant events and how he felt about them. It seems like a good idea, and while he trusts the security of his laptop (and the network), he thinks the physical act of writing on actual paper will feel more enduring. So, he needs a journal. He knows that he will eventually have to leave the house and start interacting with people who aren't Steve or with Feral to Family, but for now he's going to harness the power of the internet and shop on his own terms.</p><p>Steve joins Bucky after detouring upstairs, tucking himself into the other corner of the couch at an angle that gives him a view of the window as well as bookcases and Bucky.</p><p>It takes a couple of minutes for the soft sounds of graphite on paper to filter through to him, but when it does, Bucky blinks over the top edge of his screen at Steve. "You're drawing," he says.</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says, though his hand has stopped moving. "I've been doing it off and on since I came out of the ice. Your dream this morning—"</p><p>"Since I don't know if I've ever had a better dream, I'm declaring that one the best," Bucky says, a grin lighting his face for a few moments.</p><p>"I think I've only had one better, but who knows," Steve says, his own mouth turned up as he speaks. "I wanted to draw it." His expression is suddenly serious, brows drawing together. "If that's okay with you."</p><p>"Yeah, that's fine," Bucky says. After a few moments of thinking about it, he says, "I know that part of my life was... bad. I was treated badly, I did terrible things—even if I wasn't in my right mind, it was still my body there—and awful people helped other awful people do more horrible things. I don't know how I can ever make up for any of it. The parts that are mine to make up for, anyway. Being here, doing this, makes me feel like I am, so..." He squints as he trails off. "I don't know what I was trying to say."</p><p>"Being The Winter Soldier was bad," Steve prompts. "And that relates to me drawing you from your dream..."</p><p>"Oh," Bucky says, recalling his original point. "Just that it might be a silly image, but you're not making fun of what I went through, or any of the people that got hurt because of Hydra and their plans. It's okay, Stevie."</p><p>"Okay," Steve says with a nod. "Right."</p><p>"You're not the kind of guy who would do that," Bucky says, voice as certain as his words. He turns his attention to his screen once more, thinking about how to phrase his search for a book to write in.</p><p>"Well..." Steve grimaces a little. "I <em>did</em> draw some cartoons making fun of Hitler."</p><p>"Yeah? That's..." Bucky closes his laptop and sets it aside so he can fold his arms as he thinks. "It's different because... Hitler... Um. Fuck. I can't remember what he did."</p><p>"Leader of Nazi Germany," Steve says, words clipped and posture tense.</p><p>"Oh. Okay. So he was an asshole in charge. So there you go, that's fine. Always good to knock those guys down a peg."</p><p>The words startle a laugh out of Steve and he relaxes. "That's true."</p><p>"You're fine, Steve. Draw the picture, I wanna see it," Bucky says, reaching for his laptop again.</p><p>"All right," Steve says, shifting to get comfortable with his sketchbook and pencil.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings For This Chapter:<br/>- Steve suspects something's up with Alpine<br/>- Bucky takes The Foodies to the clinic for their spays/neuters and has a flashback<br/>- Non-graphic descriptions of how the surgeries will go (may not be accurate! Ask your own vet.)<br/>- Bucky has a moment of panic when Alice refers to herself as a tech</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days are normal, or as normal as things get when animals are involved. Celeste's kittens's ears open and all of them are sitting up, pushing themselves up to stand on their short little legs, and starting to play. Granted, most of their play takes the form of biting one another, but they're barely fourteen days old.</p><p>Branwen has forgiven Bucky for his causing of kitteny distress and no longer hisses at him when he pops in to check weights and collars.</p><p>The Foodies are all hovering around 900 grams apiece, even Pebble, which pleases and upsets him by turns. Bucky <em>knows.</em> Logically, he understands perfectly that there's only so much room in the house and that keeping every kitten that comes along is impossible. The part of him that's been watching over the little cats since the day he'd looked into their box and remembered the <em>KITTENS!</em> binder doesn't get it at all. He's pretty sure he's doing a good job keeping things together, until Marigot calls to let him know that Mavis and company will be doing some trapping over the weekend.</p><p>"...We were lucky enough to be able to book two surgical appointments a day for a whole week with the clinic, so we want to try grabbing as many of our unaltered adults as we can. If we get kittens or half-grown cats, that's fine, but we're aiming for the ones who keep adding to the colony's numbers."</p><p>"Is that next week?"</p><p>"Yeah, and your kittens are already scheduled—this won't interfere with that."</p><p>"Oh. Um." Bucky rubs at his eyes with his right hand. "Uh, the surgeries. They're, they're all done with—They'll be unconscious. The whole time. Right?"</p><p>"Yes, of course," Marigot says, and the tone of her voice says that she's treating his questions as if they're perfectly normal. "You know... If you're worried about them, you can always ask Helen—Dr Cho—if you can come back and observe. There have been a few times where I asked because I didn't know what the procedure involved and not-knowing was not helping my state of mind. You might not be able to, or want to, stay for the whole operation, but I'm sure she'd let you be there for their initial dose of anesthetic."</p><p>Bucky considers the idea. "I... I could try. I was there for Celeste."</p><p>"You were. And Helen's great about explaining what she's doing if you ask," Marigot says.</p><p>"Maybe I will," Bucky says. The appointments are on the calendars, both physical and electronic, so he has a few days to make a decision. "Anything else I need to know about?"</p><p>"Mm... No, just that you'll see more traffic than usual this weekend. Anything I should know?"</p><p>"No, we're fine. Thanks for calling."</p><p>"Great," Marigot says. "No problem. Take care, Jay, tell Steve I said hi."</p><p>"I will, you too."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Steve's in the kitten room, kneeling on the floor and watching Celeste's babies, all of whom are arranged in a line in front of him.</p><p>"Trying to teach them to race?" Bucky says, kneeling beside Steve.</p><p>"No, trying to figure out if I'm imagining something," Steve says, brow furrowed as the kittens scoot themselves across the floor. Most of them do; Heath manages to walk a few steps before he more or less trips over Savannah and he forgets about exploring in favor of biting the side of her head while she tries to bite one of his legs.</p><p>Alpine and Rallie, nearer to Bucky, have also altered their path of travel to head for him.</p><p>"What is it?" Bucky says, reaching out to gently pet each of the kittens.</p><p>"I'm not sure if Alpine is having trouble getting around, or if she's just a kitten who's learning to walk. She's been working on standing on all four feet, but she hasn't really tried walking, at least not while I've been watching her," Steve says, putting his hand down so that the tiny wrestlers won't roll off the edge of the blanket he'd put down for them. "I'm more worried that I'm looking for a problem where one doesn't exist."</p><p>"She's fine otherwise," Bucky says, rubbing Alpine's belly as she turns over and bats at his fingers. "She's getting plenty to eat, she weighs the right amount, and her eyes and ears seem to all be in order."</p><p>"Right, and she's not crying more than anyone else, and Celeste isn't ignoring her or trying to leave her with Branwen's kittens," Steve says. He leans over and scoops Rallie up before she can get out of arm's reach, setting her beside Heath and Savannah. Her siblings wave their feet at her and she joins them by flopping herself over Savannah's head. "I guess the only thing to do is keep an eye on her and see what happens."</p><p>"Even in the same litter, kittens can develop at different rates," Bucky says, picking up Alpine and holding her up at eye level, supporting her with both hands. "Are you just a late bloomer? Or are you just resting after being the first one to open their eyes?"</p><p>Alpine squeaks at the questions and at her altitude.</p><p>"I know, I'm asking you very complicated questions," Bucky says, lowering her to the blanket and gently letting her go. "So yes, I think we'll just have to wait and see." </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>And so it goes. Branwen's kittens gain weight and start opening their eyes; Celeste's kittens start learning to groom themselves, start trying to follow Celeste when she leaves the nest, and start to play with toys. The Foodies hit 925, 950, 975 grams and the date of their appointment looms ever closer.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"...And how've you been doing with keeping track of things, especially your moods and sleep?" Anikó says.</p><p>"It's... It's not... Ah, fuck," Bucky says, then sighs. "It's been hard the last couple of days. I'm not, I've been having a hard time getting to sleep, even with Steve right beside—"</p><p>"You're sleeping with Steve?" Anikó's voice is very carefully neutral.</p><p>"In the same bed, yeah," Bucky says, too tired and unhappy to really give a damn about being embarrassed. "It was something we did a lot before the—Before my accident and losing touch with each other. 'Cause we didn't have the money for heating our place, mostly."</p><p>"I see," she says, still in that same neutral tone.</p><p>Bucky groans and considers throwing his phone across the library. That's a childish thing to do, and rude besides; it's the knowledge that it would probably scare the cats that causes him to discard the idea for good. "Look, I checked out the site you sent me, I even called them. I've got a preliminary appointment the week after next. I don't have, I'm not—I can't even remember if I ever kissed anyone, let alone liked it. My, my sex life's dead as a, a, a doormat. Not doormat. Doornail. About all I know is that I got jealous over Steve having another friend which is <em>stupid</em>, and that I fucking missed touching him even though I had no idea until I hugged him for the first time in God knows how long, and, and, and the kittens..."</p><p>He can't breathe, he's choking, his vision is blurring and his nose is burning and <em>oh.</em> Bucky's shoulders heave as he sobs and he wonders, in a distant and somewhat detached way, how many more land mines are waiting inside him. He reaches out and picks up a pillow shaped like a sleeping cat and presses it over his face, keening into it to muffle the sound.</p><p>"You're okay," Anikó says, far away and tinny. "You're fine, go ahead, get it all out. You're safe, you're okay, this is good."</p><p>She's still repeating encouragement and comfort when he finally winds down, breath hitching every few seconds. "Sorry," Bucky whispers, "sorry, that was..."</p><p>"No, no, it's fine. Feel better, now?"</p><p>"I dunno." He feels...kind of gross, actually.</p><p>"Why don't you take a few minutes to wash your face and get some water, and we can talk about it a little when you get back," Anikó says, still gentle.</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, trying to pull himself together. "Okay, yes. Five minutes."</p><p>"Five minutes," Anikó says.</p><p>Bucky sets his phone on the coffee table and gets up, a little unsteady for the first couple of steps. In the kitchen, he doesn't really wash his face so much as he rubs cold water on it; he feels less gross and somewhat more like himself by the time he's dried off. He gets a glass and puts some ice in it, fills it with water, then takes it back to the library. Drinking his water helps clear his head, at least to the point that he feels like he can actually talk to Anikó as he picks his phone up once more. "Um. I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's fine. Crying is often very cathartic and can be vital to the grieving process."</p><p>"I was angry, though," Bucky says, confused.</p><p>"Of course you were," Anikó says, like this isn't news. "You thought I might not believe you, and then you were confronted again by how much you've lost, not just in terms of memories but also in terms of time and relationships of all kinds."</p><p>"Guess so."</p><p>"Anger is a normal reaction to loss, too. Loss is <em>hard</em>. It's unfair, it's mean and petty and always feels personal, even when we know logically that it's not. In the face of that, almost anyone would be angry. Just be sure that you're not letting your anger drive you to act inappropriately, okay? I can send you some resources on dealing with it, if you think you'll need them."</p><p>"Might as well," Bucky says, feeling utterly done with the universe for the moment. "I don't think I'm doing that, taking my anger out on anyone or anything. That... What I was saying, earlier, that was the first...outburst? I think I've had. Which might not be good?"</p><p>"Everyone goes at their own pace," Anikó says, "and there's no right way to go through the process of grieving. The upside to that is that there's no <em>wrong</em> way to do it, either, which is one less thing to worry about. I think that between now and our next appointment I'd like you to concentrate on tracking your moods and your sleep. If you can, make notes about your moods twice a day, say around lunch time and just before bed. If you can only do it before bed, that's absolutely fine."</p><p>"I'll try," Bucky says, then covers a yawn. "'Scuse me."</p><p>"As with all of your assignments, this is intended to help us figure out where you are and where you're going and that's all. No grades, no pressure, just us trying to get a clearer picture of the landscape."</p><p>"Right. I know. I appreciate it," he says, because God in Heaven does he ever appreciate it. <em>It's not a mission and there's no way to fail if it's not a mission.</em></p><p>"Let me see... We have a little bit of time left, so I'd like to talk about The Steve Situation—just a little bit. You said that you didn't realize how much you'd missed touching him. Do you get much physical contact from other people during your average day?"</p><p>"Anikó, I barely leave the <em>house</em>. Strangers, or even acquaintances, touching me is... No. That's—I can't. Too many hands, too much—No, I don't—" He shudders at the thought. Marigot is nice enough, but he doesn't want to hug her.</p><p>"Right, okay. That makes sense... If you weren't getting much if any physical contact with other people before Steve got in touch with you again, it's perfectly understandable why you'd try to get as much contact with him as you can. You trust him, you know him, and human beings need to touch one another. We're social creatures, we need connections with one another."</p><p>"Oh. Huh." Bucky considers that, then says, "Do you think Steve might be the same way? Missing touch?"</p><p>"Without speaking to him, I can only say that it's possible," Anikó says. "And now our time is about up. Okay, I'm making some notes about what I want to talk to you about next time. You are going to try to track your moods and your sleep, I'll send you some stuff about anger and touch. Any questions or concerns?"</p><p>"The kittens go for their spays and neuters tomorrow. And next weekend, they... They're... Their adopters are coming. To get them." Bucky feels his throat going tight again, eyes prickling. Was this his life, now?</p><p>"Okay, so that's moved up to the top of our list of topics for next time. You can call me any time and I'll do my best to get back to you as soon as I can. I may not have time for a full session, but I'll have at least ten minutes for you, okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, okay," he says, voice thick. He clears his throat. "Thank you."</p><p>"Of course. You've been doing some good work, Jay. All right, I'll talk to you next time. Take care."</p><p>"Um, thanks. You too." Bucky slumps over onto the sofa cushions as he disconnects the call. He wants to sleep for a week, but he doesn't know if he could fall asleep... And then he jerks as his eyes close and his head lolls. Okay, so he could probably fall asleep. He shouldn't, or more accurately, he can't. He has things he needs to do, starting with going upstairs and wrangling kittens for a field trip; he shoves himself up off the cushions and then the sofa, stretching expansively once he's upright. Putting his phone in his pocket, he grabs the glass, drains the last of the water, and heads out.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, everyone, it's time to go on another trip," Bucky says to The Foodies, then swallows a couple of times. The kittens have all flocked around his feet, Pebble jumping up to cling around his knee and then start climbing upward. "Ow, wow, we need to trim your claws, don't we?"</p><p>Pebble continues her determined upward trajectory; Knish joins his sister in Conquering Mt Bucky by climbing up the back of Bucky's right leg. Dolmades grabs the end of one of the laces on his left shoe and and starts pulling. The only reason that Piroshki and Basil aren't involved is that they're too busy tussling with one another.</p><p>"Come on, silly girl," Bucky says, carefully unhooking Pebble's claws from his shirt; he lowers her into the carrier and ignores the little pang of unhappiness that her indignant mew brings up. When Knish gets to his hip, Bucky gathers him up and puts him in with Pebble. Knish at least distracts Pebble from being annoyed about being stuck in the carrier while everyone else is out having fun without her. The remaining three hooligans are quickly rounded up and popped into the carrier, which means that it's now time to leave.</p><p>Downstairs, Steve's waiting by the hall tree, looking at something on his phone. He looks up and smiles when he sees Bucky, turning off the screen so he can put his phone away. "Ready to go?"</p><p>"Yeah," Bucky says, voice as tight as the set of his shoulders. "Let's go."</p><p>"It's going to be fine. Celeste came through with flying colors, and these guys are younger and maybe even healthier than she was," Steve says, doing his best to be reassuring.</p><p>"Yeah." Bucky puts his seatbelt on, then sighs. "Sorry. You're right. Just...nervous."</p><p>"I know," Steve says over the sound of the truck starting. "Me too."</p><p>This trip to the clinic is far more sedate—and longer—than the last one, Steve scrupulously obeying every traffic law. The kittens aren't happy about the trip, so a few minutes in Bucky drapes a towel over the carrier and turns it into something more like a cozy cave. The upset from inside the carrier settles quickly and that helps Bucky relax a little, too.</p><p>At the clinic, they check in with Dave, get the kittens weighed (Pebble wants to explore the area around the scales; everyone else is more interested in either getting back into the carrier or, in the case of Dolmades, crawling into the light jacket Steve's wearing), and then sit down beside the fish tank. The fish are a hit, based on the way the carrier shifts on his lap as the kittens crowd into the end of the carrier nearest the tank, along with the inquisitive sounds they make.</p><p>Alice pokes her head out of an exam room and says, "Jay and company?"</p><p>"Here," Bucky says, standing up and feeling a little like The Winter Soldier again. He's not even sure <em>why</em>, since Alice didn't give him orders. No one has given him orders; even the requirement of getting kitten weights had been phrased as a request. Steve's here; will have his six if necessary. He's been to the clinic several times, and each experience had been positive, or at least they've all had positive outcomes even if they didn't start that way. Bucky tries to put it out of his mind as he crosses the waiting room into Exam 3. </p><p>Exam 3 is mostly the same as the room Bucky and Celeste had waited in. The main difference was in the art: a large color photo of an older man in a leather jacket, slacks, and a flat cap pointing at a handful of sheep with a stick of some kind, while a grey-and-white dog in a half-crouch seems to be in the middle of herding them toward a pen. A line of hand-written text just below the lower left-hand corner reads <em>Satch's first championship qualifying run! Thanks so much to Helen and the team. – CS &amp; Satch</em></p><p>"Come on back," Alice says, opening the far door for them and holding it for them.</p><p>"Thank you," Steve says as he passes her; he looks back, catching Bucky's eye as he does.</p><p>"Thanks," Bucky says. Steve's presence helps him get through the doorway, since the usual clinic smells are stronger now; there's something different in the air that is pushing hard at the memories of treatment—both required and recreational—he'd undergone.</p><p>"Since this is the first time you're dropping them off for this procedure, we thought it might be helpful to know what's going to happen," Alice says, leading them past the big metal sink-things and a wall of kennels.</p><p>The smell is... Is... It's blood and something else, disinfectant and the distinct scent of digestion—<em>Ah, shit, the damn bullet nicked its gut—</em>He's not there, it's not his blood, he doesn't know what happened—<em>Strap it down so I can find the fuckin' hole—</em>He has a mission, he's got a package to deliver, he can't waste his time on this—</p><p>"...back, Jay, just follow the sound of my voice, okay? You're safe, you're with me, come on back. You're safe, the kittens are safe, I'm right here, everything is fine," Steve is saying, when Bucky finally gets free of the...whatever it was. Flashback, maybe. He blinks a couple of times, looks around. His hands are empty and his heart gives a kick as adrenaline pours into his system.</p><p>"Alice has the kittens and they're safe, I promise," Steve says. "You're safe, too. We're still at Valley Vista and nothing's going to happen until you're a little more present."</p><p>"Alice hazza kittens," Bucky says, annoyed by the way his words slur together. He needs something more solid to hold onto, so he reaches out, groping for... That. Yes. Which is... Steve. He's holding Steve's hands. Okay. They are definitely solid and warm and the squeeze he gets is bordering on painful but it's just what he needs. "She hazza kittens 'cause'a the 'ppointment."</p><p>"That's right," Steve says, "they're here to be spayed and neutered, so they don't have to have the kind of life Celeste used to have."</p><p>"Right. 'Sponsible thing to do." Bucky abruptly leans forward, pressing his forehead to Steve's shoulder. "God, that was awful. Did I drop the carrier?"</p><p>"No, you just froze. I got the carrier and gave it to Alice, and she said I could bring you in here. This is the room where cats and smaller dogs spend the night if they're having surgery first thing in the morning, and there's nobody in here," Steve says, shifting his stance so Bucky can lean against him as much as he needs to. "Can you tell me what happened? Or what caused it, so we can figure out how to avoid it?"</p><p>"It was a smell. We were walking by the, the... Cages. And something smelled like... I got shot. Belly. And they had to get the bullet out, and I could smell..." He swallows convulsively, the memory of the odor combining with the memory itself to make him nauseous.</p><p>"You don't have to talk about it any more, that's enough," Steve says, giving Bucky's hands another squeeze. His tone is soft, reassuring. "You're here, you're safe, it's over. You survived. You survived, and we're here, together."</p><p>"Yeah," Bucky says, then shakes his hands loose so he can put his arms around Steve. "Yeah, I know, it's just... It was... I was here, and then I was there."</p><p>Steve wraps his arms around Bucky right back. "That's happened to me once or twice. Scary as hell."</p><p>"Fuck brain trauma," Bucky mutters, wishing he could crawl into bed—with Steve would be ideal, but alone would be fine too—and sleep for a couple of weeks. He knows he can't, however, so he gives himself another thirty seconds of holding onto Steve before he takes a deep breath and straightens up. "Okay."</p><p>"Sideways, with a frozen brass chicken," Steve says, and grins when Bucky barks a laugh. He lets go slowly, making sure he's not rushing Bucky.</p><p>"Twice!" Bucky says, then shakes his head. Another breath and he looks around the small space: A wall of stainless-steel kennels with barred doors, all of them empty save for a lining of newspaper in the bottom on one side, a couple of cabinets and a countertop on the other, a sliding window with a heavy-duty screen at the far end that looks out into the parking lot. In the wall opposite the window is a door with a narrow glass and metal-mesh window set above the lever handle. It's surprisingly quiet, which is actually kind of nice. "We should go find Alice."</p><p>"At least," Steve says. He gestures toward the door and the rest of the clinic in general. "She said she'd be on the other side of the operating room and to just turn right when we open the door."</p><p>Bucky braces himself and opens the door. The air currents are different in this part of the building and he only catches disinfectant and the sort of generic 'animal' smell he'd noticed on his previous visits. Thus reassured, he turns to his right and sees Alice's pink hair as well as the carrier at the end of the corridor where it turns right again. As they walk down the hallway, Bucky notes a door on the left that leads to a room of large barred compartments, some of which have barking dogs in them. That's followed by a door that doesn't show anything but a blank wall at first but as he passes he sees a cat on a shelf about halfway up the back wall. To the right is the operating room, which he can now recall from his visit with Celeste.</p><p>"Hey," Alice says as they arrive and the kittens start clamoring for attention. "Everything okay now?"</p><p>"For now," Bucky says, feeling his face heat as he looks down at the carrier. "Sorry. I, uh, I have PTSD. I'm working on, on dealing with it."</p><p>"I have an uncle who's dealing with it, too," Alice says, her tone as conversational as usual. "Is there anything we can do to help?"</p><p>Bucky blinks a couple of times, then says, "Um. Maybe? Is there another way to go, to leave this area?"</p><p>"Yes, I'll take you that way when we're done here. Are you both ready to get started?" She looks from Bucky to Steve and back, expression mildly expectant.</p><p>"I'm ready if you are, Jay," Steve says.</p><p>Bucky takes yet another deep breath and nods. He has to be, this needs to be done and it's not fair to the kittens to stress them out unnecessarily. Besides, once it's done, it's done—they'll never have to have this particular operation ever again. "Yes," he says.</p><p>"Okay," Alice says, giving them a nod and beckoning them over toward another stack of kennels. The door to one of the medium-sized ones is open, which lets them see the fleece blanket on the bottom, along with a stuffed toy of some sort that appears well-loved. "So we've got this space set up for them, here, plenty of room to snuggle and stay warm while they're waiting. I'm going to give them a little bit of sedative in a staggered pattern, and then go help Dr Cho set up the room while we wait for it to kick in.</p><p>"It'll be just like we did for Celeste, as soon as they're out, we'll shave them, clean the site, then get them on the table and intubated. Dr Cho will do the operation and they'll go back into their recovery suite as soon as she's satisfied that everything looks good. Someone will put a warming pad in there with them and they'll be checked every half hour or so. When they're all awake, we'll give you a call and you can come get them."</p><p> "Why the staggered pattern?" Steve says.</p><p>"While each of them will metabolize the drugs at different rates, it's not different enough. If we sedate all of them at the same time, whoever's going last will probably be alert enough by the time we get to them that we'd have to give them more, and we don't like to do that," Alice says. "And while dopey kittens can be kind of hilarious, we don't want to run the risk of them getting hurt, either."</p><p>"Makes sense," Bucky says, looking around the pre-op area. "And they, the kittens, they'll all be together? When they wake up?"</p><p>"Yes, they will. We try very hard not to let anyone wake up by themselves, since coming out of anesthesia can be disorienting and frightening," Alice says. "Kittens seem to get over that part pretty quick, but we try to do whatever we can to help shorten that period."</p><p>"Good," Bucky says, firmly. "Good. Okay."</p><p>"Any other questions?" Alice says, looking at them again.</p><p>"I don't think so," Steve says. "You'll give us all of the instructions we'll need when we come get them later, right?"</p><p>"Right," Alice says.</p><p>"Then no, I don't have anything. Jay?" Steve says, glancing at the other man.</p><p>Bucky shakes his head. "Don't think so."</p><p>"Okay. Do you want to stay until we start the sedation process?"</p><p>As much as it hurts to say, as much as he wants to grab the carrier and run, Bucky makes himself shake his head again. "No. Thank you." He looks up at her, hoping his sincerity comes through. "Thank you, this is... I was going to ask. If I could...see this. Or part of this."</p><p>"Sure, you're welcome," Alice says. "As long as people are polite about it, the doctors and the techs here—"</p><p>"Techs?" Bucky says, locking his knees as his skin goes clammy.</p><p>"Vet techs, like me," Alice says, giving him a strange look. "Short for veterinary technician. I have no idea why we're called that. I guess 'vet nurse' sounds funny?"</p><p>"Oh." Bucky breathes the word out. "Not, not... Mechanical technicians."</p><p>"No, though I am pretty handy with a screwdriver if I do say so myself," Alice says, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. "And one of our other techs, Peter, he's <em>really</em> into computers and that kind of thing. I think he wants to go into bioengineering in college, to try making prosthetic legs for dogs and cats that are better than what's currently available."</p><p>"Wow, that's ambitious," Steve says, shifting closer to Bucky until their arms touch. "I wonder... Hm. I might have something that's right up his alley, but I need to ask some questions." </p><p>"Oh? Okay," Alice says, then shrugs it off and continues with, "Why don't you help me get the kittens into the kennel, Jay? Then I'll show you the secret exit."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, but takes a moment to swipe at his sweaty face before he picks up the carrier and takes it over to the compartment in question. He kisses each kitten on the head and shows them to Alice, introducing them, then puts them on the blanket. Predictably, Pebble gets up to the edge and tries to get down so she can see what else is out there, meaning that both Bucky and Alice have to juggle her and whoever is next to go in. Dolmades hides behind the stuffed toy, while Knish and Piroshki carefully sniff around the back wall. Basil seems to be pretty blasé about her new surroundings and plays with Pebble's tail instead.</p><p>"There you go. Okay, so they're all tucked in safe and sound," Alice says, getting to her feet. "You can leave the carrier there and follow me." She leads them further down the hall to a pair of doors, one of which has a plaque reading <em>Helen Cho DVM</em> on it. A few knocks which are met with silence and then Alice opens the door onto a dim and slightly messy office. There's a line of light coming under a door on the far side and Alice opens that one, walking out into the lobby like she has every right.</p><p>"Thanks, Alice," Steve says, when the door has closed behind them. "We really appreciate this."</p><p>"No problem. As long as people are polite about asking and they stay out of our way, we're happy to do our best to accommodate requests to see what's happening in the back," Alice says. "Dr Cho says that veterinary medicine isn't some arcane art and people feel better when they understand that it's more or less just like going to a human doctor."</p><p>Bucky hums at that, but doesn't say anything beyond, "I think they'll be okay."</p><p>"I'm sure they will," Steve says.</p><p>"Absolutely," Alice says. "We'll give you a call when they're ready to go home. Take care."</p><p>"Thanks," Bucky says, managing a nod. He hears Steve make his farewells as he turns away, feeling somehow stiff and wobbly all at once.</p><p>"Let's go home. I think you could use some cuddle time with Celeste," Steve says when they're out on the sidewalk.</p><p>"Yeah, sounds good," Bucky says, not that he really registers what Steve's saying.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They get back to Jellybean House, somehow—the trip was a blur for Bucky—and the next thing he knows Celeste is in his lap, purring and warm. Steve is there, big and also warm and he's got Celeste's kittens, bright-eyed and curious about everything.</p><p>Bucky watches as Steve lines the kittens up as if at the start of a race. Heath and Rallie push up onto their stubby legs and toddle off, Rallie making a beeline for mama's tail where it hangs over Bucky's leg and Heath for a ping-pong ball. Savannah is happy to roll around on her back, alternating between occasionally swatting at Alpine and sticking her own feet into her mouth. Alpine stands, but she only takes a few steps toward Heath before she goes back to a froggy half-crawl.</p><p>"Come on, Alpine," Steve says, soft and encouraging, as he picks her up, setting her on her feet. She wobbles over to Heath and drops back to the floor, apparently so she can grab at Heath's nearest limb and bite it.</p><p>Heath doesn't seem to mind getting nommed by his sister, if his reaction of patting the ping-pong ball is anything to go by. He doesn't ignore her, however, leaning over and grabbing a mouthful of her nearest ear when the ball rolls out of range.</p><p>Rallie sits down to watch mama's tail as it swings back and forth, back and forth; she tries to catch it, or at least pat it. She misses a couple of times and makes contact once, though Celeste's tail is moving fast enough that it slides out from under Rallie's foot. She chases Celeste's tail for another few seconds, then turns her attention to Savannah when she can't catch mama's tail. Savannah squeaks as Rallie bites Savannah's back foot, kicking at Rallie with the other.</p><p>"These kittens," Steve says, but there's only fond exasperation in his tone.</p><p>"Silly," Bucky says, his voice slightly muffled by the top of Celeste's head.</p><p>"They are," Steve says. "You can go have a nap if you need one, I can take care of things around here."</p><p>"Shouldn't," Bucky says, still into the top of Celeste's head. Between the hum of her purr and the warmth of Steve's presence, he's feeling even sleepier than he had at the clinic. He's been through worse; done more difficult tasks under harsher circumstances, so getting up and cleaning litter boxes, doing laundry, checking food dishes, none of it should pose a problem. He didn't seem to be able to get up, though. Huh.</p><p>"There's really not much that needs doing, Buck. Go on, get some sleep," Steve says, running his hand over Alpine's back and Heath's side. "I'll wake you if I need you, I promise. I've got this watch."</p><p>"If you're on watch," Bucky says, giving in. He kisses the top of Celeste's head, then weathers her disappointment as he sets her on the blanket near her kittens. "D'you want a hand rounding these guys up?"</p><p>"I can get 'em," Steve says, tickling Alpine's ear and then her belly as she rolls over. "If I don't see you by time for lunch, I'll come wake you."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says. He rolls to his feet and lets muscle memory guide him out of the room and up the stairs; he kicks his shoes off and brushes his teeth before he slips under the covers. One moment he's hoping the kittens aren't afraid or missing him, the next he's out.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Buck? Hey, Buck. It's time to wake up."</p><p>That's Steve's voice. Why wasn't his alarm going off?</p><p>"Heh, this is familiar. C'mon, Buck, I made us lunch."</p><p>It is familiar, but Bucky's still a little disoriented as he sits up. "'M up, Stevie. Y'didn't make cabbage soup again, did you?"</p><p>"I promise you that the closest I've gotten to a cabbage is when I walk by them at the grocer's," Steve says, his hand on his heart. "And the only time they're in a soup of mine is if it comes that way from a restaurant. I made club sandwiches and a couple of trays of those potato things you like, piled together and sprinkled with cheese."</p><p>"Sounds fantastic," Bucky says as he gets out of bed and stretches. He straightens the covers so they're at least somewhat neater, then follows Steve (and the delicious smells of potatoes and bacon) downstairs.</p><p>They eat in the library so as to avoid Celeste's importunings, Steve recounting his morning while they do. About halfway through, the phone in the kitchen rings; Steve goes to answer it.</p><p>Bucky, no longer able to distract himself from thoughts of The Foodies, goes after him; he at least takes his sandwich with him.</p><p>"Okay," Steve says. "That's great, thank you. Four o'clock, right. We'll be there. You too."</p><p>"The kittens?" Bucky says, before Steve gets the handset back in its cradle.</p><p>"All of the operations went smoothly and they're all coming around. Dave said we can come collect them at four," Steve says, cheerful.</p><p>"Good. <em>Good.</em> Okay," Bucky says, then takes a big bite out of his sandwich. Now that the low-level stress of not knowing what was going on with the kittens was gone, he was ravenous. "Fank'oo."</p><p>"Your manners are atrocious," Steve says, still happy. "C'mon, I'm hungry, too. Shoo."</p><p>Bucky makes an amused sound and leads the way back to the library.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The aftercare instructions are simple: try to keep the kittens from being <em>too</em> rambunctious (operative word being 'try'), check their incision sites to make sure no one is getting too enthusiastic in their attentions to the spot, watch for sudden lethargy, loss of appetite, or basically any other sign that a kitten isn't themselves.</p><p>Everyone is still somewhat wobbly and feeling a little too good from the last of the sedation, so Bucky gets a couple of cushions from the storage room, a handful of books out of the half-bath, and makes himself comfortable against the wall beside the nest cabinet. He reads them the somewhat absurd and definitely funny <em>Grandpa's Too-Good Garden,</em> followed by the more absurd but still funny <em>Clams Can't Sing</em>; gets wrapped up in <em>Time Of Wonder</em>; finds himself mildly unsettled about halfway through <em>Mud Baths For Everyone </em>and sets it aside. <em>Aunt Lulu</em> doesn't make him forget about the previous book, but it definitely lightens his mood.</p><p>When the kittens pile into the cabinet for a nap, Bucky gathers the books and sneaks out into the hallway. He puts them back on the shelf they came from, then goes to find Steve and his checklist.</p><p>"If you need to sleep in the room with the kittens, that's fine," Steve says, as they're finishing the nightly chores.</p><p>"I've been trying to decide," Bucky says, exhaustion and annoyance dragging at him. "I keep going in circles about it."</p><p>"What are the options?" Steve says.</p><p>"Sleep with the kittens. Sleep right outside the door. Sleep in the room across the hall with the door open to hear any noise the kittens might make. Sleep in the room across the hall with my phone or laptop showing the feed from the room with the volume up. Stay up all night in the storage room, watching the feed on phone or laptop. Try to sleep normally with laptop off and phone not set to silent in case a mod needs me," Bucky rattles off as he ties up the trash bag full of garbage from the rest of the house.</p><p>"You've put more thought into it than I have," Steve says, impressed. "If you'd like my opinion, I think trying to sleep normally with the door open and your phone not silenced would be a good place to start. You can always change things if they're not working." He takes the bag from Bucky and heads for the back door.</p><p>"Yeah, I started thinking about it after lunch," Bucky says, following him down the hall. The trash bin is still right outside the door, easily accessed without leaving too much cover; Bucky still likes to be there to offer more. Besides, it gives him a chance to sweep the part of the yard he can see, and sometimes there are possums, raccoons, or deer. One night there was even a skunk, ambling along the tree line and apparently unconcerned about the human fifty-plus feet away. There's no wildlife out tonight, however. "That's probably true."</p><p>"I'm sure they'll be fine," Steve says, stepping back into the house in sync with Bucky. "But I'm not convinced that they <em>will</em> be."</p><p>Bucky groans a little at that. "That's what I keep telling myself! They'll be fine, Dr Cho and everyone know what they're doing because it's the most common surgery any vet performs and no that doesn't mean that they're complacent and the kittens will be <em>fine.</em> But I don't actually know!" He huffs and grumps about it all the way back to the kitchen.</p><p>Steve washes his hands while Bucky replaces the garbage bag. "I'm chalking it up to the fact that this is the first time we've done this," he says as he dries his hands.</p><p>"Probably. Ugh, let's go get ready for bed. Maybe it'll help."</p><p>Following his nightly routine doesn't exactly help Bucky's certainty about how the kittens would do overnight, but it at least gives him a chance to do something besides think in circles. He takes a little bit longer to do his perimeter check, lingering some 15 seconds longer than he usually does over The Foodies's windows. The fact that it's not paranoia over security that causes it is not particularly comforting.</p><p>Bucky puts his laptop on the floor, leaning against the legs of the table, then checks his alarm (set) and sound profile (sound on) before plugging his phone in and setting it face-down on the tabletop. He yawns as he picks up his journal and keeps yawning as he writes down the main points of his day. When he's done with that, he sets it aside, turns off his lamp, and settles down into a comfortable position. "'Night, Steve."</p><p>"'Night, Buck. Sleep well."</p><p>"Mm. You too."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky doesn't sleep <em>well,</em> but he only wakes twice to go check on The Foodies. They seem to be their usual energetic selves when he visits, doing their best to climb his legs despite their claws having been clipped at the clinic and playing with anyone and anything within reach when they can't get purchase.</p><p>As Bucky and Steve go about their usual chores, Bucky's concern over the kittens's wellbeing gradually diminishes to its normal level. It helps that Marigot calls with a distraction.</p><p>"Hi, Jay," Marigot says, when he answers. "Do you have a moment?"</p><p>"Yes," Bucky says, going into the kitchen (much to Celeste's disappointment). "What's going on?"</p><p>"I just wanted to let you know that we've gotten confirmation on availability from all of the adopters. Pebble and Basil and Knish are going home a week from today, at four and four-thirty PM respectively. Dolmades and Piroshki will go home a week from tomorrow, around noon."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, the word more or less falling out of him. He can see his hand moving as he writes the information on the calendar and the white board, but he can't quite believe that it's so soon. "Next Friday, four and four-thirty, Pebble, Knish, and Basil. Next Saturday, Dolmades and Piroshki, noon."</p><p>"Right," Marigot says. Her voice softens, tone just as gentle. "You don't have to be there. You don't even have to be in the house, if you don't want to."</p><p>"I want to," Bucky says, "please. I want to know what—" they look like, <em>no,</em> he's not The Soldier, The Asset, <em>he is a person he will behave like one.</em> "—what kind of people they are. And, and if I... If I can't, um, handle it, I can leave."</p><p>"Sure, of course," she says. "Let me know if there's anything on the adoption checklist that we can help with, okay? Most of the going-home stuff is in the upstairs storage room, probably behind or under other things."</p><p>"Yeah. Okay." He shakes his head, turning away from the calendar and its impending deadline. "Thank you. I think I saw some of them when I was looking for something else."</p><p>"You're welcome." Marigot takes a deep breath and lets it go again. "I'm... I know this isn't easy. And I know Anikó's probably already told you to call her if you need her, but that goes for me, too. If you need someone to yell at, or cry with, or even just to sit quietly with it, you can call me. I won't tell you how you should feel, either. I always hate that, people saying 'don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened!' Fuck you, buddy, it's my grief to process healthily."</p><p>That gets an actual laugh out of Bucky. "That does not sound helpful," he says.</p><p>"It really isn't. For one thing, it tells the listener that their feelings of pain and loss aren't real, or shouldn't be expressed. On top of that, it says that not only should they not be expressed, they should be ignored in favor of expressing 'positive' feelings." Marigot <em>tsks</em> at herself. "Sorry, I have some opinions about that."</p><p>"It's okay," Bucky says, "I'd never heard the saying, but you're right. It's horrible, once you look at it. And thank you. For your offer."</p><p>"You're welcome. Uh—" Marigot pauses to listen to something going on in the background. "I...have no idea what that noise was. I should probably go find out. Take care and I'll talk to you later."</p><p>"Good luck and you, too," Bucky says, then ends the call. He looks at the calendar again so he can add the events to his phone, then sends a text to Marigot when he realizes he has a question.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>To: Kitten Wrangler<br/>Apparently two 10-pound cats can fit on the<br/>very top shelf of this set... If one of them pushes<br/>the box of feeding syringes off first. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>And sure, go ahead and email the mods, that's<br/>fine. One less thing for me to think about, thx!</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>[img-47284.jpg] [img-47285.jpg]</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>The first picture shows two tabbies squished together in what looks like the six inches of space between the top of the set of shelves and the ceiling. The second shows a carton on its side on a linoleum floor, top open, and dozens of the aforementioned syringes (still packaged) spilling out. A young-looking grey cat with only one eye is crouched in the middle of them, one foot reaching out.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>To: Marigot<br/>Oops. At least it wasn't glass? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I'll take care of that right now. Thanks. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Bucky sends off an email to the mods about the adoptions so they can add it to their current set of announcements, then pockets his phone so he can go about his day.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>While time is much more relevant to Bucky these days, it's not behaving the way it should. He estimates that he's been at a task for 5 minutes and half an hour has passed instead; he slogs away for an hour at something only to find that 10 minutes has elapsed.</p><p>The Foodies go about their little lives as if nothing had ever happened to them, which somehow manages be both reassuring and dismaying—if they shake off surgery like it was nothing more than a blip in their day-to-day existence, then they'll adjust to a new home in no time. On the other hand, they'll adjust to a new home in no time, not even missing Bucky a little. The thought sends him into a bit of a spiral that's helpfully derailed by Knish sneaking up and then pouncing on his hand. The part that really gets him out of his head is when Knish tries to drag his prize away.</p><p>Branwen's attitude toward people improves from 'hissy on sight' to 'deeply suspicious but open to bribes of wet food'. It makes weighing the kittens easier, so neither Steve nor Bucky is going to complain. All of her kittens gain weight with surprising alacrity, given how often fights over nipples seem to break out.</p><p>Celeste continues to be a font of unconditional love, often visiting Branwen's nest when Branwen needs a break. Rallie is the first to manage an escape during one of Celeste's kitten-sitting forays, getting her front feet over the edge of the cat-door and then scrabbling at the wall with her back feet until she's up, over, and out. She explores the little landing, sniffing at the dishes of kibble and water, looking over the edge to the floor a whole 6 inches away. She decides that's too far for the moment and proceeds to sit in front of the door and squeak about her new plight.</p><p>Bucky goes in after a couple of minutes and puts her back, which lasts about 3 minutes before Rallie makes another escape. Heath and Alpine watch her go while Savannah naps; they follow her over to the door, but Heath is the only one to put his feet up and peer out. This leads to them smacking at one another's paws over the edge, at least until Heath falls back down into the nest and starts wrestling with Alpine instead.</p><p>Steve keeps his eye on Alpine, taking time out of every day to line the kittens up in a row and watch how they move. Savannah, Rallie, and Heath are walking well, even trying to run a few steps when they have the room. They chase ping-pong balls and ribbons, following easily. Alpine...doesn't. She tries, diligently, getting up onto her wobbly little pins, but where her siblings go in a relatively straight line, she diverges. Her footsteps are marked by a minute hesitation, as if she's not sure where her feet are in space; when she gets tired, she resorts to her froggy crawl.</p><p>"She's not showing any other signs of anything being wrong," Steve says, mildly frustrated by the lack of clues. "She's eating, she's gaining, she's happy as far as I can tell. She's given as much love and attention as everyone else, and she's the only one that's doing this. I just... I need to know how worried I should be!"</p><p>"We can always take her to see Dr Cho," Bucky says, because Steve's already covered his own thoughts on the matter. "I don't think it's swimmer syndrome, because when she stands her legs are in the right place."</p><p>"I think we should," Steve says, watching Alpine flop out of reach of her brother, then get up and shake her fur out—only to fall over again. All of the kittens have done the same thing, so he doesn't count it as part of whatever's going on. Alpine gets up again and goes for a small ball made of ruffled mylar in blue and gold—it's very shiny and makes a lot of crinkly sounds when squished. Alpine loves it.</p><p>"Okay. Do you want to call or shall I?" Bucky says, poking the crinkle ball so Alpine can chase it.</p><p>"I'll call—" Steve's phone rings, the tone a particularly obnoxious thing involving what Bucky hopes is an actual human voluntarily making the screech and not, say, a recording of someone who has stepped on a cat's tail. "Or I'll answer this call from Tony. Hi, Tony."</p><p>Bucky doesn't watch Steve leave the room, busy with the kittens as he is. He does spend some time hoping that Steve isn't being called away on a mission, however.</p><p>"Okay, thanks. I really appreciate it, Tony," Steve says, as he comes back into the kitten room. He ends the call, then kneels beside Bucky. "I let Tony know that I was moved out of the Oakdale place and that it could go back on the market. He was just calling to finalize the last couple of things, and now I don't have to think about it. I'm just here."</p><p>"Oh. That's good," Bucky says, somewhat surprised by how relieved he is that Steve doesn't have to go fight anything. "Welcome home," he adds.</p><p>"Thanks," Steve says, quietly; his expression is hard to read but it's not anything negative. "As I was saying, I'll call the clinic after lunch and let you know the details."</p><p>"It's a plan," Bucky says, then shakes his head as Heath sticks his foot in Savannah's face, only to be surprised when she bites it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter:<br/>The Foodies get adopted. Bucky gets through it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Friday comes, Bucky finds himself doing things just to have something to do. Deep-cleaning the bathrooms kills a couple of hours, as does disinfecting the isolation room. Spending time with Celeste and her kittens, working on getting Branwen to accept being petted (she puts up with two passes of his hand and then hisses), and the usual chores also help pass the time. He goes out to the feeding area with Steve and meets some of the regulars, including Archie who actually rubs up against Bucky's shins.</p><p>Eventually, inevitably, the time ticks down. Bucky combs his hair, changes his clothes, makes sure he has the going-home bags packed, including the little fleece blankets that have been in with the kittens for the last week so they'll have something that smells familiar. He gives Pebble, Knish, and Basil a last cuddle and a kiss as he gets them into the carrier, then takes everyone down to the adoption room.</p><p>Steve and Marigot are already there, steady and calm; the kittens are happy to see them when Bucky lets them out.</p><p>It's not long at all before there's a knock at the door; Steve answers it and brings Pebble's new person into the room.</p><p>Marigot steps forward with a smile and her hand out. "Hi, Petra. Nice to see you again. Are you ready to meet Pebble?"</p><p>"Hi, I am," Petra says, returning the smile and shaking Marigot's hand. "I hope she's ready to meet me."</p><p>"I'm sure she is. Have a seat wherever is comfortable. She's pretty brave, so she should pop up here in just a few," Marigot says, then gestures to Bucky. "This is Jay, our current Kitten Wrangler. He's been looking after Pebble and her siblings since they were dropped off on our doorstep."</p><p>"Jay, nice to meet you. Petra Barlow," she says, holding her hand out.</p><p>"Nice to meet you, too," Bucky says, making himself shake her hand. She's a big, raw-boned woman with a firm grip, but she doesn't hold on long enough for Bucky to feel any more unsettled than he already does.</p><p>Steve comes in with a tray of glasses, some of which have ice water in them and some of which have lemonade. He hands Bucky a glass of lemonade, puts the tray on the dining table, and slips back into the hallway. </p><p>Bucky sits down on the end of the couch nearest the door, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the cool glass in his hand, the tart-sweet taste of lemonade on his tongue. He can hear Petra and Marigot talking, something about paperwork and signatures. Knish and Basil ooze out from underneath the sofa and creep toward the carrier Petra had brought in, sniffing carefully in case it's a trap.</p><p>Pebble does pop up, rather more literally than anyone was expecting—she jumps from the floor into Petra's lap, startling the woman. "Oh! Hello. Aren't you beautiful? Look at you."</p><p>There's a few minutes of small-talk and admiration of the kittens, a few questions about feeding. Bucky can hear it, but he's not really processing much of it.</p><p>Eventually, Petra crosses the room to get the carrier she'd brought—she has to put it down again so she can gently tip Basil out of it—and puts it up on the coffee table so she can arrange the blanket in the bottom of it. She and Marigot discuss the going-home bag, and then Petra's calling to Pebble, who responds with her usual curiosity. Pebble goes into the carrier with almost no fuss, though she seems confused when the door is closed after her.</p><p>"Well, we're off, I guess," Petra says, smiling around the room. "Thank you both so much, for all you've done and all you do."</p><p>"You're welcome," Marigot says, sounding like she means it; she leans down and wiggles her fingers at Pebble. "'Bye, Pebble. Be a good girl and have so much fun in your new home."</p><p>"You're welcome," Bucky manages, but his throat closes up and he can't say anything. He does wave at Pebble, trying to blink her back into focus as his vision blurs. It works, briefly, and he rubs at his eyes to find them wet.</p><p>"Thanks again," Petra says, and then she lets herself out, Marigot following.</p><p>There's the sound of doors opening and closing and feet on gravel and an engine and then Pebble's gone, <em>gone,</em> out of his life and he can't—Bucky puts his hands over his face and tries to keep his upset as quiet as he can. There's a soft scrabbling and then warm little feet are pressing into his leg, a warm little body pressing against his arm, a not-so-little purr buzzing through the connection.</p><p>He's not sure when Steve comes in to sit with him, but he does; Steve's arm around him helps when whichever cat came to comfort him gets distracted from their task by their sibling.</p><p>"It's going to be okay, Buck," Steve murmurs, passing him a handkerchief. "The next adopters are on their way. Do you want to stay?"</p><p>Bucky nods, then cleans his face up as best as he can. "Will you?" The words are a whisper.</p><p>"Sure."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Five minutes later, Steve's showing an older couple into the adoption room. Emily and Henry Ruiz are in their late sixties and lost their last cat a couple of years ago; they're ready for some scamps to brighten up their home.</p><p>There's more conversation, introductions, the usual. It takes Basil and Knish a little longer to warm up to the idea of meeting new people, but they eventually do. The Ruizes are utterly smitten, and the kittens seem pretty taken by them in return.</p><p>Steve sits with Bucky, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg; Bucky leans into the support and even manages to contribute to the conversation.</p><p>Bucky's not actually sure if saying goodbye to Basil and Knish is easier, or if he's just numb. Either way, he waves to them and even gets the word 'goodbye' out into the air.</p><p>When the Ruiz's car is out of the driveway, Bucky abruptly stands and leaves the room. He goes upstairs, falls into bed and sleep almost simultaneously.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>"Hi, Jay? How are you?"</p><p>"Anikó. Hi. Um..." Bucky sighs and goes into the library. "I'm not sure. I made it through the adoptions, then I slept for a couple of hours. The next—Piroshki and Dolmades go home next, today, in a couple of hours. I'm exhausted just thinking about it... And I'm kind of... Should I be sleeping this much?"</p><p>"Hm. Well, it depends on why you're sleeping. Looking back at your sleep patterns, do you think you're using sleep as a way to avoid doing things you need to do, people you need to see or talk to, or otherwise shirk responsibilities?"</p><p>"No..." Bucky considers the question, then shakes his head and repeats his answer with more confidence. "No. I've made sure that my work was done, or as done as it could be, before I've taken planned naps. And the unplanned naps, those happened after I, after something happened. Something—like the flashback at the clinic, or when I had...I guess it was a panic attack? When I learned about how to check over a feral cat when it first comes in."</p><p>"Okay, so it sounds like you occasionally nap during the day, but only when your schedule allows for it... And sometimes you go to sleep after an emotionally-draining event. That's pretty normal, actually—I've had lots of people report that they've needed to sleep after dealing with something particularly emotionally taxing. Sleep is also a big component of healing, especially for the brain. As long as you're not using it as a way to avoid doing what you need to be doing and it's not interfering with you living a normal-for-you life, I think you're fine. If you're truly concerned about it, I can find a sleep specialist to refer you to," Anikó says.</p><p>"I think, uh, I think it's okay. But I'll write it down and keep track of it," Bucky says, glad to have some reassurance that no, this was only new to him. "It's not so bad. At least it doesn't involve screaming."</p><p>"Good plan," Anikó says, a smile in her voice. "That's true. But if it ever does, call me."</p><p>"Yes ma'am," Bucky says, his tone half-joking but his affirmation entirely serious. "I hope it doesn't. I don't need another thing to keep me up at night." He frowns, then makes a face at his choice of words. "Ugh."</p><p>"Anything else you need to talk about?"</p><p>"Um..." He thinks about it. "No. Not right now, anyway. Thank you."</p><p>"Okay. You're welcome, Jay. Take care."</p><p>"I'll try. You too."</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Piroshki and Dolmades are chasing one another around the adoption room when their adopters arrive. Steve ushers two adults and a child into the room, then disappears to get refreshments.</p><p>"Hi," Marigot says, "Theo, Jackie, Frank, this is Jay. He's been looking after Dolmades and Piroshki for the last couple of months."</p><p>Bucky nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with everyone. Theo works for the local electric company as an engineer while Jackie works from home as a CPA. Frank is in the fourth grade and likes Pokémon. (Frank also accepts a glass of lemonade from Steve with an awed thanks; Bucky's not sure if it's because Frank recognizes Steve or simply because Steve is big. Not that Bucky is small, exactly, but he sat down almost immediately after introductions were over and thus was easily perceived as smaller.)</p><p>Frank surprises Bucky—not that it's difficult, since Bucky has only observed a few children while waiting at the clinic—by sitting quietly on the floor and reading a book he'd had stashed in a pocket. It's something to do with Pokémon, according to the cover, and whatever it is is compelling enough that Frank doesn't lose interest. Not until Piroshki slinks over to investigate, anyway.</p><p>Bucky watches closely as Frank shows her his book, his movements slow and his voice calm despite its high pitch. It's not long at all before she's in Frank's lap, sniffing at his shirt. Dolmades is watching them, too, but keeps his distance from Frank. When he sneaks up on Jackie's shoes, something gets his attention and he spends a good minute snooping; Jackie talks to him in a soft low voice and, when he's given their fingertips a sniff, manages to pet him a little.</p><p>Steve joins him on the couch, sitting right beside him once more. "What do you think?"</p><p>"I think Marigot made a good choice," Bucky whispers, because that's all that can get through the lump in his throat. "Piroshki and Dolmades need patient people."</p><p>"Yeah? I remember that it took them a little while to warm up to me, too," Steve says. "So did you."</p><p>"Nah, I liked you from the word go," Bucky says, nudging him gently with his elbow. "Just...lost track of that fact for a while."</p><p>"Aw," Steve says, exaggerating the sound as much as he can while also keeping his voice down. "I like you, too, Buck."</p><p>The banter gives Bucky a moment's respite, eventually fading back into the anxious anticipation of an unpleasant event. That little insight gets Bucky to wondering if the reason the adoptions yesterday had been so nerve-wracking was because it felt so much like waiting for punishment, whether for mission failure or some other (possibly imaginary) infraction.</p><p>He <em>hadn't</em> failed. The kittens were leaving because they were old enough to start their own lives—if they'd been born in the woods around the house, their mother would have weaned them and gone looking for her next mate, leaving them to fend for themselves. This is<em>not</em> punishment, this is just the next step in the cycle of a cat's life. Bucky knows he has every right to be sad about their departure, but he needs to come up with a way to remind himself that an adoption equals mission success.</p><p>The paperwork and chat portion of the adoption process has wound up while Bucky had his epiphany, so the flurry of movement startles him. Steve's hand at the small of his back helps ground him, however, so he doesn't jump up and add to the moment of chaos.</p><p>Chanting <em>This is not punishment, this is mission success</em> over and over at the back of his mind doesn't really help, but Bucky is calm enough to give Dolmades and Piroshki a quick farewell cuddle each and to wish them well when they're in their new carrier. The human goodbyes are short, though Frank does approach Steve and offer him a very solemn handshake (Steve obliges with a genuine smile).</p><p>And then the three of them are alone, the little family trooping out to their SUV and getting everything and everyone settled before they back up and disappear down the road.</p><p>"Well. Five more lives saved, countless more changed. Congratulations, Jay, you did it," Marigot says.</p><p>"Yeah, I did," Bucky says, his gaze seeming stuck on the corner of the coffee table. "Thank you. You helped, though. And the book. Books. And you, too, Steve."</p><p>Marigot makes a so-so motion with her hand. "I think I've said this before, but you really could have fed them once and then left them for us to find. Your choice to do otherwise made all the difference."</p><p>"I'm proud of you," Steve says, "you took on a tough job and saw it through to the end. I'm glad I could help."</p><p>"Well... Thanks," Bucky says, feeling awkward and exposed and somewhat cranky with it. He knows they're trying to make him feel better, but right now it's too much. "Um. I think I need to go lie down."</p><p>"Oh, sure, don't let me keep you," Marigot says, waving a hand at him. "I've got some last paperwork odds and ends to sort out and then I'm outta here."</p><p>"Go ahead," Steve says, "there's nothing that can't wait."</p><p>"Thanks," Bucky says again, and goes to take another nap.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They're sitting in the library after dinner about a week after the adoptions, laptop open and video feeds running, but Steve is drawing and Bucky is... He's trying not to fidget, because Steve is drawing <em>him</em>, and he doesn't want to make it difficult. There's an urge inside him, something in his chest, pushing at him to <em>speak</em>. The thing is, he has no idea what he's going to say—he's been feeling strange for the last week or so; it's not a <em>bad</em> feeling, just one he's unfamiliar with. Or at least is unfamiliar with now.</p><p>"Penny for your thoughts?" Steve says, glancing up from his sketch.</p><p>"What if we just lived here and did this forever?" Bucky says, and... Oh. That was what the feeling was, apparently: he'd made up his mind. "These last couple of weeks were...hard, but there were good things, too. Sarah's so much better. Tittle's weight gain is steady and sustained. Celeste's kittens are walking and playing. Branwen's quit hissing at both of us. And this is only about halfway through the season, we'll have more soon enough. Or I will. You get to make your own choice." </p><p>"Uh..." Steve put his pencil and his sketchbook down, giving the question his full attention. "Well, there's the obvious, we just...live here and take care of cats. Beyond that... I don't know. And you're right, there's been plenty of sweet to balance the salt."</p><p>"You haven't retired," Bucky says, which might seem apropos of nothing but it <em>was</em> something he'd been thinking about. </p><p>"No, not yet," Steve says. He's quiet, lost in thought, for a bit, then says, "I haven't been back to New York in three months. I haven't..." He looks up, then, a kind of wonder starting to dawn on him. "I haven't missed the city. And the only missions I've gone out on are missions that seem to need all of the Avengers. I wasn't... I almost never thought about it, between missions."</p><p>"You haven't missed the city?" Bucky hadn't either, but that was more from a combination of trauma-induced agoraphobia and the desire to avoid surveillance cameras. "Or fighting?"</p><p>"No, I haven't. I think... I think it's finally sunk in that the war's <em>over.</em>" Steve takes a breath and blows it out again, looking a little wide-eyed. "The war, <em>our</em> war, is over. At last. Of course, if there's something big, some threat that can't be ignored, then I'll have to go," Steve says, thinking it over out loud. "But outside of that... I can just keep resting."</p><p>"Of course you would," Bucky says, a thrill of...hope? Excitement? A thrill of something going through him at the idea that they've both made it home after all. "But that's...normal? You... You've always wanted to do your part."</p><p>"Yeah, I have. And now my part can be this, with you and the cats." Steve shifts a little, looking around the room. "I could... I've kept in touch with Sam, I could ask him if he was interested in taking on the shield. Or at least the mantle of Captain America."</p><p>Bucky's mouth tugs askew in a momentary smirk. "Not gonna be Captain Feral after all?"</p><p>"That's still on the table," Steve says, doing his best to look and sound serious. "After all, Captain is a pretty ubiquitous rank. Plenty of room for more than one."</p><p>"Especially if one of them spends his time hiding from people," Bucky says, teasing.</p><p>"True." Steve chuckles and shakes his head over the whole idea, then looks around the room again, amusement fading into consideration. "So... Yeah. I want to find out what else happens if we just live here and look after cats 'til the end of the line."</p><p>"Okay," Bucky says, going warm from the roots of his hair right down to his toes. Maybe he can't remember what their post-war dreams had been, but they hardly matter. This, here, now, this was real. For however long it lasted, it was theirs.</p><p>"But... If we're going to live here and look after cats... I think it might be a good idea to remodel this place a little? Fix up the attic so we can have our space up there and then there'll be more space for cats down here. And maybe an actual dedicated dining area," Steve says, still looking thoughtful. </p><p>Bucky smiles at the suggestions, remembering the meals they'd shared sitting on the floor or his bed or in the library. "Good idea," he says. "We can ask Marigot about it when I call to let her know tomorrow morning, yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah," Steve says, a goofy sort of smile on his face as he picks up his book and his pencil once more. "Hey, Buck?"</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"War's over," Steve says, his voice a little rough; his eyes are a little damp around the edges when he looks up over the edge of his sketchbook. "I'm glad we're home. I'm glad <em>you're</em> home."</p><p>"It is," Bucky says, feeling about as emotional as Steve looks. "Hey, Stevie?"</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"It's good to be home. With you." It is. There will be bad days, days when nothing will go right, days when the losses will outweigh the wins, days where the shadows of the past will blot out the sunshine of the present.</p><p>Bucky has what he needs to handle them: intel. Charts and scripts and phone numbers and URLs. He's got reinforcements in Steve, Natalia, Marigot and the Feral Family, Anikó, Dr Cho and Alice and the rest of the team. A home, warm and safe. The promise that no matter what the bad days bring, there will always, <em>always</em> be good days and good things too.</p><p>He's ready.</p><p>  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Links And Information!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cats, techniques, layouts, and attitudes toward feral cats were all inspired by (and in some places heavily based on) those hosted, developed, and held by the amazing people of <a href="http://www.tinykittens.com">TinyKittens Society</a>, a trap-neuter-return (often a trap-neuter-adopt) rescue organization in British Columbia, Canada. Founded by the incredible Shelly Roche, TK's goal is to spread the message that compassion can and will change the world. Let's meet some of the cats whose worlds have been irrevocably, wonderfully changed, shall we?</p>
<p>All links go to YouTube; none of them require any warnings outside of "may make you squee" or "will absolutely distract you from work".</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=upH4qwEgzpY">Grace was my first TK mama. She was so sweet</a> that it was speculated she'd been a house cat at some point in her life.</p>
<p>Grace was my first, but Stella is my favorite. She came in as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Wi1oD_Aa0g">a very pregnant feral catermelon</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZWDhWP15ls&amp;t=230s">learned that people weren't so bad</a>, even if <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bGfq5gskyg&amp;t=74s">they did put clothing on her that led to silliness</a>. [And if you notice some similarities between Stella and a certain cat-character, well, you're not wrong. ;)] </p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SzZsD3R6s2A">Kittens love to help! Or "help"</a>. </p>
<p>Two-thirds of The Fonts <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XTPKDGnUYk">presented themselves to Shelly in an orderly fashion</a> when it was time to go. The other third were a little busy. (The first few seconds of this <em>are</em> out of focus. It's not you, it's the video. It clears up quickly and you don't really miss anything.)</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cTTRXgyZZg">North was brought in for medical reasons and discovered that toys are fun</a>! (His haircut is for easier treatment of his ringworm and his ear-infection-induced head-tilt is not interfering with his quality of life. It might even go away entirely as his ear heals up.)</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ov7CFFjxjc">Breanne Vs Kittens</a> is a good example of the kind of shenanigans I used for the basis of the scene where Bucky has to free himself of kittens before he can leave the room.</p>
<p>Chara noticed that the camera moved. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQP3d3TR-WI">She decided that it would be a good idea to make sure it wasn't a threat to her siblings</a>.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lB8900mlr8o">Naya heard a kitten heartbeat</a>. She also never warmed up to humans, so she was spayed and went back to her friends and family in the forest*.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_D6fLy1-jU">Thor doesn't need to see a sink in order to love being in it</a>. (Also: Thor regularly *jumped* from the sink to the cabinets by the window and back. He--and his bestie Nyla--are amazing.)</p>
<p>Rescue work isn't all kitten-related hilarity. Sometimes it's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoa-6SvDETQ&amp;t=3385s">a cat accidentally turning on a faucet and causing The Great TinyKittens Flood Of 2020</a>. (The thing in the middle was designed to allow cat-cuddling during quarantine.)</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZNqIyj0SyU">Mama Angela demonstrates how to hunt a rattie</a>! Kittens remain politely interested.</p>
<p>Grandpa Mason loved kittens and kittens loved him. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeXOyX0tEb4">He occasionally carried them off to his yurt</a>; other times, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UoVOEEQ29cY">everyone just hung out on the TinySofa</a>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If you're inspired to help feral cats (or even non-feral cats) in your area, here are some ideas to help you get started:</p>
<p>
  <span>The number one way to prevent the increase in feral (and generally unwanted) cats is twofold: first, of course, is to spay or neuter your own cat(s). If you can’t afford to get your cat(s) altered, check with your local branch of the Society For Prevention Of Cruelty To Animals as they often have a low-cost spay/neuter program for those of us with limited funds. You might check with your local no-kill shelter(s), too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second is to keep your cat indoors. It’s fine to allow your cat to hang out in your yard under supervision, or to take them on walks or other adventures! Just don’t let them roam. There are a lot of dangers out there for a cat, from cars and dogs to wild animals. Roaming cats are also not great for local birds/small mammals, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, once you’ve done those things (or they don’t apply to you for reasons), try these:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>If you can volunteer time/attention:</b>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>Check with your local Trap-Neuter-Return group and see if they need volunteers</span></li>
<li><span>Local no-kill shelters are also great places to volunteer</span></li>
<li><span>Both groups can probably put you in touch with foster and rescue groups/networks in your area--if you have the time and room to take in a cat (or two, or a family), that can be a fulfilling way to help</span></li>
<li>
<span>Consider getting involved with </span><a href="https://explodingkittens.com/kittyconvict"><span>The Kitty Convict Project</span></a>
</li>
<li><span>If you have older neighbors with cats, ask if they need help with cat-related chores--perhaps they could use someone to lift big containers of clean litter and pour them into a tub or bin that allows for an easy refill of litter boxes, etc.<br/></span></li>
<li><span>Find out if there is a pet-food pantry in your area and volunteer with them; consider starting one if that resource isn’t available</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <b>If you can’t volunteer (much) time/attention or cash:</b>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>Do you have old towels that are still perfectly fine outside of maybe having a stain or are ragged along one edge? Call up your local TNR group, no-kill shelter, SPCA, or even your local vet clinic and ask if they could use them. They will likely say YES PLEASE. </span></li>
<li><span>How about one or more fleece blankets or throws that you don’t use anymore? Same thing as with the towels. Cats tend to love fleece blankets. </span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <b>If you can’t volunteer (much) time/attention but have cash:</b>
</p>
<ul>
<li>
<span>Paper towels/kitchen roll in the big packs from a warehouse store are </span><em><span>always</span></em><span> appreciated</span>
</li>
<li><span>Call up and ask if the TNR group/NK shelter has a particular kind of food they need (i.e. limited ingredient, senior/kitten, etc.); a particular kind of cleaning product they need (Nature’s Miracle, Woolite, etc.); a particular kind of litter they need (Yesterday’s News, Dr Elsie’s, The World’s Best, crystal/silica); even if they could use basic stuff like dishwashing/dishwasher soap, laundry soap, hand soap, etc.. Buy them some, then take it over and drop it off</span></li>
<li><span>Do they need litter boxes, food dishes, scratching posts/cat trees, toys? </span></li>
<li><span>Straight monetary donations help, too</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <b>If you are crafty:</b>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>Call up (or email) the organization(s) of your choice and ask if they could use fleece blankets of a particular size (to fit a cabinet/kennel/crate/plastic tub or bin/etc.), then make them a bunch! If you’re feeling particularly ambitious, you could organize a sewing group where everyone chips in for fabric/notions </span></li>
<li><span>Make cat toys, either using the scraps from your blanket project or other fabrics</span></li>
<li><span>Build cat trees/scratching posts</span></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Don't get discouraged if you don't have or can't find a TNR group in your area, or meet opposition from people who don't understand that it's possible to medicate, bandage, foster, socialize, and generally have great interactions with feral cats. Shelly did, too, and she continues to turn "conventional wisdom" about feral cats on its head. <a href="http://www.tinykittens.com/">TinyKittens</a> has a lot of good information on their site; there's a zillion <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCeL2LSl91k2VccR7XEh5IKg">videos on YouTube</a>; and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tinykittens">their Facebook page</a> has videos as well as updates on the state of things at HQ. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>* One of the most frequently asked questions is "Why return the cats to the forest when they've weaned their kittens?" The answer lies in an analogy: Imagine you have been kidnapped from your nice familiar home by terrifying giant aliens. It doesn't matter to you that your home was often cold and wet and that it was sometimes hard to find things to eat, it was still your home. Also, it didn't have these massive creatures that freak you out in it.</p>
<p>Sure, these gigantic aliens haven't eaten you (YET), and they bring you tasty food on a regular schedule, and they make sure you're warm and dry and have a nice soft place to hide in or sleep in, and they provide interesting things to entertain you. It's not a <em>bad</em> place. It's just not <em>home</em>, either, and sweet heavenly <em>days</em> the aliens scare the daylights out of you every time they come into your habitat to do anything. All you want to do is go home and <em>not see these aliens ever again.</em></p>
<p>So, TK spays (or neuters) the cats and lets them go home, where they might have to put up with rain and dirt and that annoying cousin of theirs, but they'll also be much <em>much</em> happier.</p>
<p>That's not to say that every cat who goes back to the forest was miserable while at TK--there have been some cats who went back because while they showed interest in living indoors with people, they weren't ready to commit. The cats spent time at the feeding station and interacted with the volunteers until one day, it was obvious that the cats were done with being feral. So, TK brought them in and made sure they were healthy (usually by treating the ringworm that's endemic) and put them up for adoption. They're living their best lives, safe and healthy and happy.</p>
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